Beyond the Winter Garden
by iamphantomgirl
Summary: Alt to Kay: After Christine's death, Erik claims his daughter at Christine's request. In tow, a young governess with an equally mysterious past enters his household to tend to the child. How will Erik cope with a young daughter and Eva?
1. Reliance

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

She was dying. I'm not sure when I first realized it, or when the rest of the household staff learned of it. Existing above the rest of them, I had more contact with the de Chagny's than most. Teaching young Charlotte had become my life. From the moment she had been laid against my breast five years ago, a small child with dark brown eyes and soft wisps of curls framing her face, she had become part of me. I couldn't claim her as mine...Christine was her mother, and always would be. But the sweet, cherubic face that possessed such a sweet, innocent nature was something I look forward to seeing each day.

Little Lotte. I'm not sure who first began calling her that...Raoul, or Christine. A loving name, and it made their daughter shine and smile brighter each time that endearment crossed their lips.

Lotte was only allowed an hour or so a day with her parents. The Vicomte was constantly busy, tending to a million things with family business, and Christine had been ill for quite some time. The moment she had discovered she was pregnant with their second child, she had began growing ill with worry. There were whispers that she had been cautioned against having more after Charlotte, and now it seemed those warnings had fallen on deaf ears. Delivering the child had taken its toll on her, and she had lain down the hall in what the doctor described as too much blood for the begetting of children. She had lost what little vitality she had left, and as I stared at her now, in perfect repose, she already looked dead.

If it weren't for the shallow breathing, and the occasional flicker of her eyes, I might have believed she had gone to her reward. Raoul de Chagny sat beside her, inconsolable as the knowledge of the future sank onto his shoulders.

"Raoul," Christine whispered, his name a gasp on her perfect lips.

"Shh," he soothed her, touching her hand with such tenderness, it was barely a caress. "You must not speak, Christine. You need to sleep, my sweet angel."

"I will," she said softly, and the hollowness of the promise brought tears to my eyes.

Yes. She would sleep. The eternal sleep...never to wake again. Never to hold Charlotte, or her unnamed son that was crying with a wet nurse somewhere in this deserted feeling house. I hoped Charlotte was with Madame Cauley in the kitchen, or with Raoul's valet, begging for an endless treat, instead of sitting outside her mother's death chamber. She was such a quiet child...becoming so withdrawn the last few months that I felt I scarcely knew her. The depression in the household was infective, and I admit to being more than a little moody. Seeing the fragments of their marriage dissolving before my eyes was painful.

Raoul would be a widow soon. Perhaps tomorrow...perhaps in a few hours. In a few minutes. I knew she didn't have long.

"Lotte," she whispered, her eyes struggling to stay open. "Lotte...I want her to have her father, Raoul."

"I'm her father," Raoul replied, his mouth twisting in bitterness.

I knew what was coming. The same thing every day for the last few weeks...when she had first fainted, first had a glimpse of cramps and bleeding, indicating what her parturition would be like. She wanted her body returned to Paris...wanted Lotte to be given to her father. To a man, whose whispered name was spoken between them like a secret. A man named Erik, whose existence I had pieced together with each fragment of conversation, with each vehement refusal on the part of Raoul de Chagny.

I had known who she was long before I ever sought employment with the de Chagny's. I had known of her past...the mysterious affair in Paris. It didn't take long to realize who Erik was...who Lotte's father was.

Until it became apparent that Christine would really die, I had not cared. I believed no one could be better for her than Raoul, even if he was never home, at least he wasn't feared by everyone. Why did Lotte have to have a phantom as a father? Why should she have to suffer? This home, and the privileged that went with it was hers! Not only hers now...she had a brother. A father who already loved her. She was too innocent...too sweet. I couldn't understand why Christine was willingly giving her daughter to this madman, but she insisted on it yet again.

"When he comes for her, do not be frightened, Eva."

She was speaking to me now, and I nodded hesitantly. "Of course, Vicomtesse."

"He won't hurt either of you...but you must let him take her, Raoul," she paused, closing her eyes to give herself rest and strength. She seemed to struggle merely to breath, but her eyes opened, showing her clarity and soundness of mind. Personally, I had long since thought her crazy. "You must go with them, Eva. You must continue to care for her...as you have in the past."

Startled, I glanced up at Raoul. His eyes were squeezed shut, and he continued to shake his head. Anger had him clenching his hands, and he struggled not to show it.

"Promise me, Raoul," Christine whispered, her voice growing weaker. "Promise me that Lotte will go to Erik when he comes for her."

"He won't-"

"Yes. Erik will come for his daughter," she said, raising a trembling hand to his cheek. "This is what I want, Raoul. This is my choice."

"He doesn't know," he whispered, breathing heavily for a moment as he reigned in his emotions. "I'm her father...please, Christine. God, please don't make me give her up."

"I'm sorry. It's too late...I've already notified him. Erik will come for his daughter...and I want Eva to go with her."

I stared at the Vicomtesse, not having enough power to deny her. I had no intention of going anywhere with a madman, or of letting him near Lotte. She would be helpless against a lunatic...unable to defend herself from his ruthless cruelty. I knew nothing of what really happened of course, but I certainly knew how to read. Whether it was true or not...I didn't care. In Raoul, there was safety and certainty. With this man, this Erik, there was darkness and danger. I couldn't imagine myself for one moment releasing that child to him. I certainly couldn't imagine myself agreeing to accompany her.

"Promise me, Evangeline. Swear to me...on your sister's life, swear to me."

I wanted to call her something repulsive, a trickster, a cheat. How dare she use Rebbecca against me? How dare she, when she knew perfectly well what it would mean? Still, I could not deny a dying woman a last wish. I could no more abandon Lotte to her fate, than I could Rebbecca to hers. Someday I would save Rebbecca. Today, I could save Charlotte.

"I promise," I heard myself say, and the Vicomtesse nodded slightly.

I rose from my bedside vigil and left them, knowing it would be the last time I saw Christine alive. We would most likely be leaving for Paris soon, and I needed to prepare Charlotte for what lay ahead. There was every possibility that this man would not come for her. Every possibility he would not want a daughter...besides...didn't Christine know the Phantom of the Opera was dead?

Crying broke my heart, and I found her inside the hall cupboard, outside her parents room. I knew instantly that she had seen and heard everything. I should have known...should have remembered, or realized that their room was similar to mine. Often I used to wonder how Charlotte knew what I had been doing in my room before I left for breakfast in the mornings.

Then I discovered the cupboard, and the screen that allowed air to filter through from cool passageways within the walls. She was inside, her dress and hands dusty. Her face streaked with tears. How had I not heard her sitting next to her silently dying mother?

"Charlotte," I murmured, lifting her in my arms. She clung to me, her face pressed against my neck.

"Mama..."

"I know, Lotte. I know."

"I don't-I don't want to-go!" she whimpered, and I felt her small fists press into my back. She was such a perceptive child, for one so young. She must have obtained her suspicious nature from her father, because I knew Christine never would have been so intelligent as to climb in a cupboard.

And if Raoul wasn't her father...that must mean Erik was the one who possessed such cleverness. Certainly as that mysterious ghost who haunted the theater, he would have done his share of eavesdropping. How Christine could ever trust him after what he had done was beyond me, but I had to make a decision.

Did I stay with Lotte, or abandon her to the fate of a father who might be cruel...twisted? Or worse?

* * *

I wanted to speak with Raoul, but not an hour after I left, Christine was dead. A servant entered the room to tell me and left, and I studied the child who had fallen asleep while her mother died. She never needed to know that, but it was heartbreaking nonetheless. Within the house, there was a little prince who also became motherless, and I wondered if his wet nurse would become his governess, as I had done with Charlotte.

Living here for a little over five years, I had grown accustomed to comfort. What would I be looking at now, if I left with Charlotte? What would Charlotte herself endure? I was well aware of the mystery surrounding why a man had kidnapped Christine, and why he had lived below the theater. I knew...or had heard rather, stories about him. About his appearance.

Fear entered my heart, and I struggled to repress it. I found myself watching the shadows of my room, holding Charlotte close and waiting for him to appear from darkness. It was as if the moment she died, he would come to claim his daughter. Would he come through the front door, as a civilized man? Or would he steal her in the night, never giving me a chance to make good on my promise to keep Charlotte safe?

Desperately I wanted to talk to Raoul, but I knew he was grieving heavily, plagued by guilt. In effect, he had killed her. By placing a child in her womb, he exposed her to the risk that had born repeated warnings, and now Christine was dead. Undoubtedly guilt would drive him to respect her last wish. To give his daughter to Erik, and remove me from their household and place me in his.

I shuddered as I imagined what dank hole he would drag us into. Anything less than perfect, and I would take Charlotte to raise myself. An anonymous life in a country village, where no one could ever find us.

Charlotte rolled to her side, her cinnamon curls tangling in her small hands. She was a miniature of Christine...so alike, it was no wonder Raoul didn't want to give her up, regardless of her paternity. Her brother down the hall would likely resemble Raoul. I had seen the briefest glimpse of blue eyes a soft, downy hair. Of course, the eyes of all infants are blue, but there are none bluer than Raoul's. If Charlotte was taken...would she ever know her brother? Would she remember this place...me, if I was not allowed to come?

It would devastate us both to be separated, especially right now. Charlotte needed me now, because of Christine. She needed a mother figure...a gentle hand, a familiar face.

Me? I would always need Charlotte. She sustains me. Gives me hope...peace...joy. There is no one else I can give my love to, except Charlotte. No one left in my family, except Rebbecca, who I most likely will never see again.

I need Charlotte. Much more, I suspect, than she will ever need me.


	2. A New Rose

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

_Erik_

I recognized her instantly. How could I not? Standing next to a young woman, who stood next to the solemn Raoul de Chagny, I knew this was my daughter. How cruel, for her to look like her mother. How cruel, as they buried the only woman I ever loved, for me to look upon the face of the child we created. The child I had never met...never known about, until it was too late. Another young woman stands to the side, cradling an infant. The source of Christine's death, and though I should feel angry at de Chagny for giving her a child, I cannot.  
How could I, when I had always thought he had given her Charlotte as well? I felt vaguely sorry for him, and was surprised I could feel such an emotion for him, even after all this time.

Christine's letter...God, how I had pored over that letter. Studying each sloop, each intricate curl on her name. Each slash on mine. Inhaling the sweet fragrance of roses that had not faded from her hands. The letter had nearly killed me. The entire affair had, and I knew by the time it had crossed my hands she was dead. I had felt it in my heart, and known she was dead. Finding out the day after I received the letter had hit me like a weighted anchor, throwing me into a sea of misery and despair.

I wasn't even sure how to grieve...I did it the only way I could. I drowned myself in a bottle for three days, anxiously awaiting her arrival in Paris. The irony that she was only returning in death did not escape me...but she had left me a most precious gift.

Two, really. Her letter, which I would treasure and keep, forever.

Our daughter, who resembled more a fragile glass doll than a child. A perfect tiny version of her mother, a dark haired, pale girl, who looked as tame as an English rose. I wondered if she was always so docile. So complacent. She looked as if she wanted to lay upon the ground, and sleep beside her dead mother. Lifeless eyes, and in them I recognized the same despair I had seen in Christine's, when Gustave Daae had died.

A million spray of roses adorn the casket, and I stand above the nave in Notre Dame Cathedral, listening to the requiem with tears on my face, and longing in my heart. I had not kissed those lips but once, twice. Raoul had done so countlessly, and I no longer felt anger at him. I could feel nothing, except grief, and I was unsure what I should do with it.

I wanted to descend, to weep upon her body. To play my own requiem. To die, mourning her forever. The cherubic angel in the nave prevented me from doing those things. I needed to live for her, to accept her in whatever way I could. What Christine hoped to accomplish by giving me the child, I don't know. I am fearful and curious. Not enough afraid to leave her where she is, and my curiosity possibly enough to have me killed.

I have no doubts my presence in the de Chagny residence will not be welcome. I have waited for their return to Paris...what I would have done had they returned sooner, I do not know.

I do know the best way into their house. I have gone their many times, in their absence. Christine never lived there. The whole of their marriage, they did not spend one night beneath that roof, but I do suspect where Charlotte will be sleeping. I know the perfect room, for the perfect princess.

In Christine's letter, there is another request, one I am not entirely sure I will obey. I look to the right of Charlotte...the amber eyed woman holding her hand. Evangeline. Evangeline isn't looking very spectacular today. Black does not become her. It does not become Charlotte, or de Chagny, or the rest of the blue blooded aristocracy that have come to pay their homage to Christine.

Evangeline will need to make a decision tonight, and very quickly. Two seconds, is perhaps all I shall give her. Two seconds, before she either sleeps the rest of the night, waking with a headache, or follows me into the darkness with Charlotte.

* * *

My plans are foiled soon. The entire group of mourners leave, except the woman and the child. Raoul gives Charlotte a brief hug, and follows the casket from the church. The scent of roses is everywhere, and I strain to make out the conversation between the child and the woman. Evangeline sits in a wooden chair, pulling Charlotte into her lap. She hums a melody beneath her breath, and begins to rock the child to sleep.

Cautiously I make my way down to them, avoiding the light from the rose windows, and staying in the shadows of the nave. I pull my hood around my face, hoping she will mistake me for a priest. Closer, I can see the fragments of red light have filtered through the window, and catch the woman's face. She is certainly more beautiful, and much younger than I first thought. Perhaps around twenty five, but no younger. Perceptively, she turns her head and sees me. She stops humming, and her rocking ceases. She presses a hand against the child's face as I move towards her, keeping the bone white mask from her gaze. I thought the gesture was a protective one, but she merely shifts in her chair without taking her eyes from mine.

"Erik?"

My name from her lips freezes me, and I glance down at the sleeping child, noticing she has stirred. Her eyes don't open, and I relax again, although the woman is still staring, waiting for my response.

"Evangeline."

Her eyes widen slightly, and she draws in a large breath. I move forward more, but she holds her hand out, looking at me in sudden fear.

"That's close enough. You may sit down," she says brusquely.

Glancing around the nave, I notice the desertion is not lost on her either. Obediently I sat down, waiting expectantly for her to say more. Obviously Christine has prepared her more than she has me.

"What do you intend?" Evangeline asks me, her voice like a whip in the empty church. Charlotte still does not move, and I suspect she may be pretending to be asleep, but still she remains unstirred.

"I don't believe my intentions are your concern. The matter is between Christine and myself. She's coming home with me. Whether or not you decide to come is entirely up to you. Personally, I would rather you didn't, but Christine left me specific instructions," I reply, looking at her with disdain. "If you come into my employ, you will not speak to me out of turn. Do you understand?"

Her mouth tightened into an unflattering line, and she glanced down at Charlotte. "She's only a child-"

"Five years, to be precise."

Eva nodded, stroking Charlotte's back gently. Her eyes brightened with tears, and I didn't bother repressing a sigh. My insolent gesture earned a glare, her eyes turning murderously dark. She muttered something beneath her breath, which I decided to ignore.

"Yes or no. Tell me. Right now, Madame Novelli." Demonstrating my lack of sympathy, I moved forward quickly and took the child. She fought me for a moment, glaring at me harder when I shouldered my burden from her arms. The loss of the child seemed to frighten her, and she sank back against the chair in defeat.

I paid her no more mind. Charlotte's head slumped against my chest, and I turned away possessively to inhale the scent of roses, and to touch her mountainous curls. Her unblemished, porcelain cheek, as flawless as the leather one of mine was like satin. At my touch, her eyes flickered open and I held my breath, fully expecting a scream. Instead, like her mother before her she stared into my eyes, then fainted dead away in my arms.


	3. The Vaguest of Senses

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

_Eva_

Erik stopped and stared at the Pont Neuf, eyeing the three carriages and two carts lining the bridge. Raoul had insisted that Charlotte be allowed to take everything with her, and it was arranged carefully within the confines of two carriages and three carts. The third carriage was for our transport, and I again tried to take Charlotte from him to enter the carriage, and was met with extreme hostility. He gripped her tighter to him, shielding his face away from me in a defensive gesture. Feeling brittly anxious, I stepped back and allowed him to continue holding her.

Seeing nothing beneath the cloak, except for an occasional glimpse of a frown was thoroughly annoying, and more than a little frightening. I had seen the girl faint. I had seen sweet Charlotte look into the folds of the cloak, then her face pale before she lost consciousness. I had high hopes that by the time she reached her mother's age, swooning would be something she scorned as equally as I, for Christine was one of those females that fainted, and weakness is something I have never liked in any person. Man or woman.

"What is this?" he asked, still looking at the caravan of vehicles in a row on the bridge.

"These are all of her things. Everything...clothes, toys, everything I will need to tutor her. Her pets...," I paused long enough for him to complain, but he said nothing. Hoping he would, I began to name off the small dachshund Gertrude, the two cats, Oscar and Chester, and saved the best for last. "And her iguana, Carlos."

He said nothing, and it irritated me that I could not see his expression. I had hoped given the reality of seeing all of these things that would invade his home, he would send us back to the de Chagny estate, where Charlotte could grieve for her mother in familiar surroundings.

"Why did he arrange things like this?" he questioned suddenly, his tone sounding fairly angry. "Why...?"

"Why did the only father she has ever known abandon her at her mother's funeral?" I offered, my voice unforgiving and unkind. I shrugged, not willing to engage into those private matters. I did know, but I wouldn't tell him. Because Raoul hadn't wanted Erik anywhere near his home. Anywhere near him or his son. He hadn't wanted Charlotte to be stolen in the middle of the night...hadn't wanted to traumatize her more than she already would be.

I wasn't so certain this was a better alternative, and given what he had told me last night about Erik, I knew this man had no clue how to raise a child. I couldn't understand why he would want to.

I waited for him to respond, but he said nothing and began walking towards the first carriage. Watching with astonishment, he laid her inside carefully on the seat, then stepped back to allow me room to enter. He closed the door behind me, and I prayed for a moment he would say we could return to the de Chagny estate. Instead he stepped forward and spoke carefully to the driver, giving him an address I thought was on the outer edges of Paris.

At least we wouldn't be dwelling beneath the opera house.

- -

He had ridden his own horse, and had already reached the sprawling estate, nestled in the woods when we arrived. Two massive doors were open, and a stern looking gray haired woman with ice blue eyes stood to the side and with a no nonsense tone ordered me to follow her. Charlotte didn't stir as I lifted her and carried her through the silent house. I caught glimpses of grandiose dark beauty, of intricate artwork, and lavish furniture. All carefully maintained, all seemingly well considered.

Carrying Charlotte up the stairs, I noted that no one had followed us. The woman, who introduced herself as Beatrice du Brul, did not offer us a tour of the house. She walked straight to a set of double doors at the end of a long, spacious hallway and opened them. Immediately I noticed that it was far more austere than her room at home. There was no sign of life in the room. No hint of personality. Just a blazing red coverlet, set amidst dark gray sheets. The canopy was covered in the same deep, dusky red, and carved wooden roses twined around the four bedposts.

"Madame du Brul, is this the room he chose for her?" I asked, and the woman tightened her mouth.

"He choses everything, Madame Novelli. Do not question him," she replied frostily. She watched dispassionately as I laid Charlotte down, covering her with the fine coverlet. At least he wasn't a pauper. At least she would still be accustomed to luxury, and he could obviously afford to keep us both fed. I had no opinion, as long as he continued to pay me, and I could provide a little protection for Rebbecca with my income. And I was certainly grateful that I was closer to my sister now, although I wasn't sure I would ever be allowed to see her.

"There are other rules in this house," Erik said, and I turned to find him standing behind us. Madame du Brul immediately left, leaving me to try and peer into the darkness of his cloak. He was unrelentingly evasive, and I had no idea if my actions amused or annoyed him. "You may not leave your room...which is directly next to this one...under any circumstances after ten at night. You may not take my daughter off the premises without my permission. To save you trouble, I wouldn't bother asking, because I can tell you right now I will not give it to you. No visitors are allowed, to either one of you, without my consent. And under no circumstances, are you to go onto the third floor of this house. Do you understand these rules, Evangeline?"

My mouth went dry with fear, and I inched closer to Charlotte. "We're to be your prisoners?" I whispered, feeling panic crawl into my stomach.

"_You_ may leave at any time. However, you _will not_ be allowed back," he replied stonily. "As soon as the...menagerie...of items from her former home have been stored, you may decide. I won't tell you how unfortunate it would be if you were to become lost in the woods around my home. Don't try to trick me, Madame. Don't attempt to leave, unless I have given my permission. Discretion...is key...I'm sure you understand."

He was fishing...to see if I knew who he really was. If I knew he was the Phantom. If he suspected that I did, he would never allow me to leave. I would be forced to stay. Charlotte would be held here forever...perhaps I might not ever see freedom again. He had subtly threatened me...and from the stories I knew he'd been accused of murder.

"Yes. The de Chagny family's reputation...I understand," I said, being deliberately obtuse. "No one needs to know this is Christine's daughter, unless you allow it."

I heard him snort softly, and knew he didn't care one whit about the de Chagny family. "Tell me, Evangeline, do you listen to music?"

I froze, uncertain how I should respond. There were a million ways he could corner me with this line of questioning, but I was only concerned if he figured out I knew quite a bit about him.

"In church, Monsieur. And the Vicomtesse had a lovely voice, and used to sing at various social gatherings, but that was quite some time ago."

The mention of Christine irritated him, and I felt myself flush under what I perceived to be a heated glare. I could see nothing, of course, but I felt it nonetheless. He moved toward Charlotte on the bed, and I stood aside quietly as he looked down at her. A black gloved hand reached cautiously out and lifted one of her spiral curls. It was disconcerting to watch such a concealed figure. I wondered what he hid beneath the cloak. The stories in the paper had claimed many things, but the only thing I could tell about him was he was quite tall, lean, and so far I had only seen a fraction of his lips. There was nothing else visible...not his wrist, not a nose. Nothing.

Raoul had told me very little about his appearance...but he had told me that the man wore a mask. He told me about the theater, about Christine. About Erik's deceitful nature. The disturbing act of redemption. I failed to see the tenderness he had described just now, although the man appeared merely cold, not angry as he stared at Charlotte. His movements hesitant, almost reluctant. Charlotte shifted slightly on the bed, and he stepped away from her, obviously not wanting to cause her to faint again.

"I will leave further instructions with Madame du Brul. Remain in this room and await her instructions," he said stiffly, turning his back to me. I longed to snap at him, to show some spine which I for some reason was lacking. His manner alarmed me, although I wasn't sure why. I knew of no other person who hid their features, and I suspected he had his reasons for doing so. Nonetheless, I found him to be an intimidating man.

"How shall I address you?" I asked him before he could leave.

He hesitated a moment, and when he spoke I imagined I could detect the vaguest sense of humor. Of course, I was mistaken. There was nothing remotely funny about this man.

"I'm sure you can think of something to call me, Madame Novelli. Use your imagination."


	4. Unchanging

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

_Erik_

Raoul's actions had angered me. Despite everything in the past, between me, between him, his actions were cowardly. I could have taken her quietly...easily into the night, instead of leaving her in the care of a nurse at Christine's funeral. I wondered how he had treated my daughter...how long he had known or suspected she was mine. If he had been eager to get rid of her, so looking at her would not remind him that I had been intimate with his wife, before he ever had.

The memory of Christine's gift had been enough to sustain me. I loved her more for it, although I had hated her in the same instant for leaving me with only that. A memory and nothing more.

But now...? She had left me something equally precious, no matter how painful it was to see her. Charlotte. Our daughter. Christine's daughter, my daughter. A rare, sweet flower that I could look at, hear, and touch. A fragment, a mere part of the woman I loved, but hopefully a gift that would last until I died. For once I hoped that it was not soon. I wanted the privilege, the chance to prove that I was capable of more than being a monster. More than a ghost, a beast that didn't deserve love. A woman might not look at me with desire...but a child could look at me with the sweet indifference of the innocent. I could have the affection of Charlotte, if I could earn it.

I wasn't quite sure how...she was already frightened of me, and Evangeline Novelli had not helped my situation at all. I was already jealous of the woman who had been with her for the developing years of her life. Christine in her letter had told me Evangeline had come into their employ days before Charlotte had been born. The doctor had advised the use of a wet nurse, and Evangeline had been recommended following the death of her own child. Nothing else was mentioned, other than she was more than adequate, and loved Charlotte very deeply.

Her protectiveness had been duly noted, but if she was not careful, she would find herself looking for another position. No one would keep me away from Charlotte...or as close as I would allow. Madame du Brul would keep me informed of any activities I did not catch, although the old woman knew very well there was little I would not witness.

I had started construction on this little estate mere months after the fire at the theater. Desperate to prove that I was worthy of living in a as fine a house as de Chagny, I had built this monstrous house, and true to my nature I built trap doors and secret passageways. Why? I have no idea, other than the fact that it would have been boring without them. The last two years since its completion, the only person I was able to spy on was Madame du Brul, and she isn't very interesting.

The forest is a maze. Literally, a maze, with one road leading in, and oddly a dozen leading out. No one would find them except for myself, although I'm sure the man who tends the rose garden had discovered paths leading from the house. He has been instructed to go no farther than the hedge, and to my knowledge has never disobeyed me.

I stepped through the passageways in the second story, watching as de Chagny's footmen obeyed the orders of Madame du Brul, placing all of Charlotte's furniture and toys in a large assembly room I had never furnished. Perhaps Charlotte would want her own bed, her own armoire. I have no idea why Raoul insisted on sending all of her possessions, unless it was to flaunt his wealth and title. To show that he had provided for Charlotte the last five years. The urge to burn everything crossed my mind, but I stifled it momentarily. The trust between us would be killed before it began, and I scowled as I heard the excited yelp of her dog.

Dachshunds.

What little I knew of the breed I detested, although they are quite humorous to watch. One of the footmen asked Madame du Brul what to do with the animals, and she scowled fiercely.

"Are they housebroken?" she demanded.

"Yes. They were all kept within Mademoiselle de Chagny's suite. I believe the lizard-"

_"Lizard?"_

Madame du Brul looked positively horrified as the other footmen withdrew a three foot iguana from a crate. I smiled inside my hiding space, wondering wryly how a little girl had wound up with such a pet. The claws settled around the man's arm, and he looked at the creature uneasily.

"Mademoiselle had a sun room for it...a conservatory. He needs a lot of sunlight," the other footman said, smiling only because he wasn't having to hold the reptile. "And will need a diet of flowers, fruit, and leaves. Madame Novelli can tell you more. His name is Carlos."

"_Carlos?"_ Madame du Brul repeated, and I suspected if they attempted to hand it to her, she would scream. She recovered quickly, and hastily beckoned to the man. I assumed to lead him to the hothouse behind the estate, although I wasn't sure where else she would put him. Likely outside and over the hedge, but I knew she would do nothing without consulting me first.

There were four of de Chagny's men remaining, and I watched carefully as they unloaded the rest of Charlotte's belongings. More trunks than I bothered to count, more toys. The promised cats who yowled unhappily from a wooden crate, as well as the red dachshund which had been released and was antagonizing them from her safe distance outside.

I had the sense that my life was about to be turned inside out again. The arrival of this child would be something unprecedented...something odd. I had scarcely been around children, and knew nothing of what she would require. I only hoped I could give her materially what I could not emotionally. There was a hollowness inside me, and I still felt quite raw from Christine. Not just her death...but the events from five years ago as well. From my entire existence, if I'm to be perfectly honest.

I had no idea if I could be the father Charlotte would need. No clue what she needed in her life at all. I only hoped I could get to know her, if not directly, then through the walls of my home. I would allow her a few days to adjust before confronting her. Hopefully at the second glimpse of her father, she would not faint.

- -

"Monsieur Chatraine, the child's belongings have all been taken care of."

Madame du Brul spoke to me through the door that led to the third floor. She has never been up here...no one has, except myself and the four Italian boys who had helped me build the house. They had not spoken a word of French, and as soon as the house was completed, I led them out of my forest and back to Paris, and have been alone on the third floor of this house by myself.

"Have you gone to inform them of the rules? Shown them where they are allowed, and provided them with any necessities?"

"Not yet, Monsieur. What would you like me to do with the...animals?"

I heard the distaste in her tone, and knew she wished for me to dispose of them. "As long as they are not a nuisance...and they do not make a mess, they may stay inside. Leave the reptile in the hothouse, unless Charlotte tells you otherwise."

"Unless _she _tells me, Monsieur? Who am I to take my orders from?" she asked, trying and failing to keep a challenge from her tone.

"Me," I snapped at her, and wished she could see the scowl on my face. The lady had not seen me but a few times in the two years since I had hired her. She served my meals by placing a tray outside my door, and we rarely had any other contact, other than she did my laundry and fed me. We almost never spoke, unless I wanted to complain, or unless someone had stumbled onto the road that led into the forest. The gardener concealed it unless I instructed otherwise, and the only other exit my two employees were aware of was a small garden gate next to the main entrance.

"I apologize, Monsieur Chartraine. Shall I prepare the dining room, or will you continue to take your meals alone?"

"Everything remains the same. They may do as they please, but remind them that after ten in the evening, they must stay in their room unless there is an emergency. Such as a fire, or some other nonsense. Now go away. You tire me with your questions. You know what I want. Nothing has changed. Nothing ever will."


	5. Silent and Lonely

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

_Eva_

Charlotte had opened her eyes as soon as he left, supporting my belief that she often pretended she was asleep so she could observe and not interact with people. Her big brown eyes filled with tears, and she held her arms out to me in silent misery, needing comfort just as much as I did.

"Eva," she cried, and I wrapped my arms around her, rocking her gently as she broke down. She sobbed noisily in my arms, and I cursed the two men who had put her in this position, as well as the mother who had died and left her alone. I was all she had, and I feared I would never be enough.

"Shhh, Little Lotte," I murmured, which made her cry harder. We could both hear the sounds of her disgruntled pets down the hall, but since I had been instructed not to leave, I didn't offer her the choice of going to see them.

"Why do we have to stay here?" she whispered, looking up at me with fear. "I want...I want my Papa." Her lips trembled, and she glanced around in panic, possibly frightened of the man who Raoul had told her was her real father. "Why did he send me away?"

"He didn't want to, little hen. He loves you, very much. This is what your mother wanted," I said gently. "Your mother wanted you to know who your real father is...and she sent us here. Isn't this a beautiful house?"

"No," she said petulantly, and I could see the beginnings of a tantrum in her eyes.

"Gertrude is here, and Oscar. Chester, and Carlos. Won't they be so happy to have this huge house to play in?"

She frowned mightily, looking over the room with a growing, angry look in her eyes. She had changed in the months since Christine had become bedridden, becoming a more sullen and spoiled child. I knew she had needed affection and attention from both of her parents, but they had been too absorbed in their own fears to worry about Lotte.

"I want to go home."

I ignored her, and walked around the room for a moment. Huge double doors led out to a balcony, similar to one she had at the old house in Ville de Nice. I opened them, stepping out into the warm September sunshine. It should have been a rainy day. France had lost a member of its beloved aristocracy. The stage had forever lost a beautiful icon, a seraphic figure whose voice was clearer than heaven's bells.

But it was a beautiful, cloudless day. The forest beyond the house looked dark...just as dark as the house itself. Made of dark gray stone, with a black mansard roof, and four spired towers on each corner, it looked positively satanic. It was daytime, and yet I could look across the hedge that surrounded the estate, and feel a shiver of fear. It was as if the trees themselves were evil.

"I want to go home," Lotte said, more insistently this time.

"This is your home," I whispered vacantly, feeling defeat in the new beautiful prison I had found myself in. "This is our home now, Lotte."

- -

"Are those the _only_ rules?" I asked Madame du Brul, looking at her with a frown. "Is that _all_? Perhaps I should write them down. I would certainly hate to break one of his precious rules."

Her eyes widened, and she glanced around nervously. "Mind your tongue," she whispered, and for once I saw beneath her brittle exterior, and realized she was as frightened of him as I was.

Sarcasm has often been my tool for coping, and I could not resist needling her to determine her true feelings for the man. "Does he always wear a cape? Are we not permitted to see him, or is he afraid daylight will burn his flesh?" I did my best imitation of a vampire, but she didn't laugh. She paled, and her eyes darted around the room.

"Do not go beyond the hedge," she repeated. "The house is off limits after ten in the evening. You may not attempt to contact him. The third floor is off limits. No visitors, unless he permits them. In my two years, I have never received one. There is to be no-"

"How do you buy groceries?" I interrupted, feeling depression unlike any I had ever known. "How in the hell does he expect a child to live under these conditions? What if she needs a modiste? And I have no intention of being captive here, Madame. I have family in Paris. I haven't seen them in over five years, and I will be calling on them-"

"I doubt that," she said sharply, cutting me off with flashing eyes and a severe frown. "He permits me to leave to buy groceries, and to run errands. That is all. I have no family...I have no one, so I suppose I never had cause to receive visitors. But I wouldn't expect him to open his home to guests, Madame Novelli."

"This is wonderful," I muttered, swinging around to glare at my too perfect room. Feeling irritated, I swept a row of pillows off a sofa, merely to aggravate the woman. She watched me impassively, and I longed to stick my tongue out at her as Charlotte had done earlier. "What is his bloody name anyway?"

"Erik Chartraine, Madame."

"Can you deliver a letter for me, should I need it?" I asked, looking at her in sudden eagerness. "Perhaps after a few weeks, he will allow me to leave, but if I should require a letter delivered, could you do it?"

She hesitated a moment, then nodded.

"What about money? Could I trust you to take money somewhere for me? I can pay you courier fees. Whatever you like..."

She nodded again, and I suspected that anything that left the house would be thoroughly reviewed by Lotte's father. She made me nervous, glancing around the room as if the walls were closing in on her. I wondered if she suffered from some disorder, and felt a moment's pity for her.

"_Eva!"_

Charlotte screeched from across the hall, and I gathered my skirts and rushed passed a bewildered Madame du Brul. Charlotte was standing on her bed, pointing at Gertrude, still screeching.

"Hush, child," I said sharply, watching the dog digging desperately at the wall. Dachshunds are notorious for being both a nuisance, and having excellent hunting skills. The sight was not unfamiliar to me, although it was definately annoying.

"She smells a rat! I know it, she's going to get a rat, Eva!" Charlotte squealed. "Get her away, get her away! I don't want it to come in here with me!"

I sighed, knowing it would be useless to reprimand the dog. Gertrude protested as I lifted her from the floor, and I held her wiggling length away from my body, trying to avoid being scratched. Madame du Brul had entered the room and was staring at the wall as if she too expected a rat to enter the room.

Charlotte climbed from the bed and ran into my room, screeching madly until she could jump onto my bed, keeping her legs safely out of the way of biting rats. I didn't even think she knew what a rat looked like, but I knew she would be sleeping in my bed tonight, not that I had expected anything different.

"That dog cannot stay here if she'll be digging into walls," Madame du Brul said, looking anxiously for signs of destruction.

"The walls will be the least of your problems," I said grumpily. "Just wait until she eats the draperies, the sofa, and any decorative pillows you might have. Oh, and if you have anything a dachshund might find interesting throughout the house, you might want to move it."

Gertrude caught sight of Oscar just then, and began barking madly. I released her as a dog nail scraped along my wrist, and dumped her unceremoniously on the floor. Gertrude persuaded the cat halfway across the room before Oscar turned, swiped haughtily with a paw, and sent the poor dog yelping beneath the bed, but not before she managed to knock over Charlotte's water basin, sending water and porcelain crashing to the floor.

Madame du Brul glared at me, as if I had committed the misdeed, then sailed from the room. I paused, uncertain if she meant for me to clean it up, or if she had gone to retrieve a wastebasket to dispose of the shards of ceramic clay.

"They're both insane," I muttered, kneeling on the floor to begin cleaning up the largest pieces, "if they think I'll remain here as a prisoner." Gertrude crawled along the floor on her stomach, dragging her back legs behind her in sweet canine apology. I smiled at her wryly as she gave me a pitiful expression. "If a cat frightened you, what do you suppose you would have done with a rat?"

Gertrude didn't answer, but I thought I heard the rat laughing within the walls of the bedroom.

Perhaps I was the insane one.

- -

"What is this?" Charlotte whispered, poking a soggy piece of meat with her fork.

I stared at my plate in equal horror, having absolutely no clue. It could have been meat...it could have been any number of things. I knew it tasted slightly like fish, but I really wasn't certain.

"I'm not eating it."

"Lotte, you must eat. If only for tonight...tomorrow we shall find something more suitable, but you must eat something tonight," I said firmly. I was unsure if I could eat it myself, but she had eaten nothing for breakfast, and neither of us had a chance to eat since.

"I don't want it."

"Lotte."

"No! And _stop_ calling me that! My _name_ is _Char_lotte!" she yelled, then threw her fork across the room. It made a pinging sound as it bounced from the marble wall to the floor, then clattered on its tines for a moment.

She stared at me, daring me to punish her for the unusual act of disobedience. I didn't have the heart. Her mother had been buried today, and I could not do as I wished, and order her to retrieve the utensil. Tears gathered in my eyes, and I turned my head so she could not see them. I did not cry for my hurt feelings. I cried for the girl who had lost her mother, and her father, and gained something worse. _He_ had not even bothered to come and eat with her. Today of all days, when she could have used a little good news.

"Please, Charlotte. Eat something," I whispered, and held my tongue after that. For a long time, she merely looked at me, and I began to eat to demonstrate that I could in fact swallow it, no matter how horrible it felt in my mouth.

Still petulant, she slid from her chair and picked her fork up, wiping it dutifully on her napkin. I didn't protest when she began using it, although normally I would have requested another from a maid. Madame du Brul had not attended us after serving the putrid mess she had called our dinner.

"I'm sorry, Eva," she finally said, beginning to look contrite. Her tantrums had grown more frequent, and more violent of late, and this one had merely been a tremor of what she could divulge in. She had my sympathy for the moment, because I wanted to have one myself. "Please don't cry...I'm very sorry."

I plucked her small body from her chair and set her on my lap, pressing a kiss against her cheek. She breathed a childlike sigh against my neck, patting my shoulder in an innocent gesture of comfort.

"Don't be sorry, little hen. Not today...you're allowed to feel rotten today. You miss her already, don't you?"

Her sniffle, hidden and soft against my neck broke my heart. Our meal forgotten, I held her as she cried in the lonely, beautiful dining room, listening to the silence better than listening to her noisy grief.


	6. The Shadow of a Father

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

_Erik_

The dog had been on my scent. It was bound to happen that she would discover my hiding space within the walls of Charlotte's room. Watching her unseen brought back many memories of her mother, none of them particularly pleasant. While Evangeline had been making vampire fangs at Madame du Brul, and laughing at my expense, I had been watching my daughter as she absently petted the dog. My sigh had been heard by the hound, although I had done it deliberately to see if Charlotte could hear me.

Now I hid in the wall outside Evangeline's room, watching as she glared at the dog who had made itself at home in her bed beside Charlotte.

"Please, Eva," Charlotte begged her, tucking her arm tightly around the dog.

"You could sleep in your own bed...the dog...the cats. I don't mind, really, Charlotte. And it's such a pretty bed."

It was. Beautiful actually...meant for another woman. Another rose, but now that Christine was gone there was no one else I wanted to give it to. Why had I created that room for Christine? I'm not sure, but until today I had never set foot inside it. Seeing Charlotte sleeping upon the bed had been oddly satisfying, and painful at the same time. She should have been born in that bed.

"I don't want to be alone," Charlotte whispered, and Evangeline's face softened instantly. With a helpless look, she nodded.

"Very well. But eventually you will have to return to your own room, Charlotte. We just rid ourselves of this habit. We cannot go back to the way things were."

"Why not?"

Evangeline waited for a moment, but I never would get to hear her response. She had unbound her dark auburn hair, and now was struggling to unbutton her dress. I left the passageway quickly, making my way down to the kitchen with the faintly annoying image of her slender, pale neck in my mind.

Madame du Brul was complaining. Not with her mouth, but her body language. She really was a deplorable cook, but I had never considered the need for someone else in the household. My meals never mattered, and the reason she was not allowed out of her room after ten was that I usually frequented the kitchen for something to eat sometime after midnight. It didn't bother me, or her I suspected, that I returned full plates to the table outside my door. She had told me when I hired her a list of things she did not do well, and I had accepted it because she wasn't nosy, and didn't seem to mind that I never asked her to do too much.

The past year was when I noticed that it wasn't her lack of abilities that had made her compile the list. She was lazy, and had gotten one over on me before I ever hired her. Still, if she could eat her own disgusting meals, then who am I to complain?

I slipped through a hidden door, pleased that I could get so close to her before she noticed me. Her frown was what gave her away, and I kept my left side to her when she finally turned to look at me.

"Is there something you require, Monsieur Chartraine?" she asked crisply, her hands in a tub of soapy water as she washed dishes.

"I'm going to consider hiring a cook, Madame," I said simply.

"Oh. Very well." I could tell how secretly thrilled she was, although having new people in the house terrified her. I suspected she thought their insolence would get her fired, such as Evangeline telling her she would not obey my rules. But a cook...? A cook would not even be allowed onto the second floor, let alone the third.

"My daughter is important to me, Madame. Her welfare is my only concern. You understand, don't you, Madame?"

"Of course, Monsieur," she whispered, wiping her hands on a towel. She clenched them nervously together and took a step away from me.

"The next time my daughter needs a new fork, you will be in the vicinity to _fetch _her one. You will make her comfortable, especially now after her mother has died. If her dog eats pillows, and draperies, and anything else, you will clean it up and not complain. If she wants to dig into walls, I will fix them. Nothing has changed here, for _me_. Your role, however, has undergone a significant change. You clean my house, you tend to my daughter when she should need it. And if her governess needs something, you _will_ do that as well. Do you understand, Madame?" I asked, calmly and politely, but I think my soft tone frightened her more. I had never raised my voice to her. Never struck her. It was my appearance that had first frightened her, and my placid behavior that did more.

"I understand," Madame du Brul whispered again, staring at my boots. "The governess...she had a request for me earlier."

"What sort of request?" I asked, immediately suspicious.

"To deliver a letter, if she should need it. And...money."

"Where?"

"She didn't say, Monsieur. She only said if she should need it, and that she would pay me courier fees to deliver it. I agreed...but I wanted to tell you, Monsieur."

Of course she did. She couldn't have been certain I wasn't listening. I don't know if she discovered the passageways while cleaning one day, or if it was the fact that I had caught her complaining too often during the first few months she had worked here, and reprimanded her for it. Whatever the reason, she knew I eavesdropped, and knew I did it often.

"I want to see anything that leaves this house. Including the money. And I want to know to whom, and to where it will be delivered. Is that clear, Madame?" I demanded.

She nodded, and I turned and left her, making it to the dining room before I slipped inside a wall. The tender scene there between Evangeline and Charlotte had brought tears to my eyes, and I had cried for my daughter's loss, as well as my own. Not that Christine had ever really been mine, but I had loved her desperately for years. I commended the woman who had not punished Charlotte, even if she greatly irritated me. I had a feeling I could expect trouble from Evangeline, and that in itself was disturbing. Tearing the two of them apart could be the worst thing for Charlotte, and I needed any help I could get to bring my daughter closer to me.

I didn't think for one moment that I would receive willing help from Evangeline Novelli.

- -

Three weeks passed, in which I did nothing but observe them. Three weeks of listening to my daughter's laughter and tears. To her crying long into the night. She continued to sleep with both the dog and Evangeline, and continued to pick at her food with disinterest, despite the new cook I had allowed Madame du Brul to place in the kitchen. Since her contact with me would be limited to that I paid her and ate her food, I made no attempts to speak with her, although I did listen and watch through the walls for any signs of gossip.

Evangeline did her share, though never in front of Charlotte. She blasted me for not even introducing myself, and criticized the way I ran my household. She was angry that she was not allowed to leave, and demanded to be shown to the third floor on almost a daily basis. I ignored her requests, which irritated her further. She had called me a vampire more times in the last week than I cared to remember, and wondered openly why I had claimed my daughter if I was going to make no attempt to have a relationship with her.

Charlotte, for the most part, seemed content in my absence. She didn't respond when Evangeline prodded her with questions, like how she felt about me, or whether or not she liked her new home. Her silence bothered me, but I was terrified of making the acquaintance of my daughter. Her rejection would sting a thousand times more than Christine's, and there would be nothing I could do to change her mind if she had made it up.

She was very stubborn. Very much like me, in many ways. Often while the governess thought she was sleeping, she would get up and wander around her room, absently pushing over toys, causing a mess merely to amuse herself. She straightened it all before she would return to her bed, and lay staring vacantly at the canopy, or closing her eyes and not sleeping when Evangeline would check on her.

The first week she had not tried to tutor Charlotte at all. Merely asked her vague trivia questions, or asked informally to recite a poem, or multiplication tables. Charlotte repeated everything dutifully, almost absently, and by the beginning of the second week, Evangeline had set up a small classroom at one end of the assembly room. She taught early in the mornings, everything ranging from history to mathematics, then always requested an hour or two outside through Madame du Brul, which I had permitted. The times they sat outside, sometimes sketching, sometimes reading was slightly annoying, because I could no longer hear their conversations.

I was starved for company after being alone all my life, and the addition of these two to my household was agonizing. I was unable to come up with something important enough to say to Charlotte to warrant me asking for her company. I knew if I should grant Evangeline the audience she wanted, I would end up firing her and regretting it. I wanted desperately to allow my daughter to hear my voice, to see me, to respond to something I asked. I wanted to know if she would have the potential to sing like her mother, or compose like me.

I wanted everything with her, but was unsure how to take even the first step.


	7. Favors

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

_Eva_

"Are you going out?" I rushed forward as Madame du Brul draped a shawl around her shoulders. She gave me a look of intense dissatisfaction as I stepped in front of her. "Please, Madame, will you ask him if I may leave?"

"No," she said sharply. "I've disturbed him quite enough on your account. He has said no every single time, and I will not continue getting snapped at so that you may beg him. If you want to leave, then you must quit."

"Then show me where the door leading upstairs is located, so that I may ask him myself," I said insistently. I had been searching in vain for the last few days, trying to find the stairs to the third floor, and was dismayed that I could not. The house itself was a maze, and I had ended up with a headache before I figured out that the stairs must have been behind one of the numerous locked doors located throughout the house.

"Madame Novelli, you must accept your role here," she said firmly, tugging a cloak over her shawl. "He will not allow you to leave. He will not allow Mademoiselle Chartraine to leave-"

"That is not my name!" Charlotte informed her coldly. "My name is Charlotte de Chagny."

Madame du Brul returned the frigid stare that Charlotte lent her, but did not respond. In the last three weeks, she had not tried to hide her resentment of having to take orders from Charlotte. To my surprise, she had done everything Charlotte and I asked, but did not do so gladly.

"Charlotte, please wait for me upstairs," I requested patiently, waiting with arched brows until she stomped from the main hall. I turned back to Madame du Brul, knowing I could wait no more. I had tried hold out, to see if he would let me leave after a few weeks, but I could see that he was not going to allow it. He had not even made an appearance in this mausoleum, although Madame du Brul said that he was still inside the house. "Could you deliver this for me, please?"

I reached inside my reticule and withdrew a letter, as well as a small amount of money.

"Where am I taking it?" she asked carefully, studying the wax seal, and counting the money.

I hesitated a moment, uncertain how she would feel at her destination. Likely now she would refuse, and then where would I be? "Pitie-Salpetriere Hospital."

She looked at me in horror. "The _lunatic_ asylum?" she whispered, and immediately shook her head. "No, Madame. I will not go there...are _you_ mad?"

"Then I beg you to ask him again. Allow me to leave. You may accompany me," I pleaded with her, but she continued to shake her head. "Please Madame. This is _very_ important to me."

Madame du Brul frowned, her index finger tapping rhythmically on the letter. I could see the indecision in her eyes, and noticed she was glancing around the room. Her distracted nature greatly annoyed me, but I was becoming used to her nervous habits.

"Madame, please," I said gently. "This letter...and the money...it is of utmost importance to me."

She tucked the letter inside her cloak, and I gave her the name of the guard to ask for. Instead of leaving, as I expected, she brushed past me and went up the stairs. It angered me that she was going to consult Monsieur Chartraine, although I had not really anticipated anything different. I only hoped she delivered the letter, and the money to bribe the guard.

My peace of mind depended on it.

- -

Charlotte sat on the window seat, dangling her legs over the edge. The picture of childlike sadness, I felt my heart tear inside just looking at her. She barely said anything anymore, although at times she could seem perfectly normal. I think the days that have passed have made her relax more since her father has not forced his presence in her life. She misses Raoul...Christine...and the endless household staff that doted on her in the de Chagny residence, but sometimes she seems as if she no longer cares about anything.

That frightens me, and I have tried to crack the shell of indifference she has begun to live in. At best, she is melancholy and lonely. At worst, she has acquired Christine's habit for depression and isolation. I try to reach her, but most of the time I cannot.

A piece of paper dropped from her hands to the floor, and I stooped to pick it up. Her head shot up, and she looked from me to the paper, her eyes becoming guarded. When I glanced down at it, I nearly let the paper slip from my own grasp.

Charlotte had always liked to draw. From the time she had begun art lessons, she had picked the habit up of drawing various things. There were a hundred drawings of Christine and Raoul tucked away in her trunks somewhere. Of me...of her pets. Right now, she was only a budding talent, but one day she would have a fine and steady hand, as well as a good eye for drawing.

This picture was of a hooded figure, and inside the place where a face would be, there was an empty white space, with a dark eyehole. After examining it, I realized it resembled a face, although it was an abstract image.

"What is this, Charlotte?" I asked softly, kneeling beside her.

She took the paper and folded it carefully, then placed it beneath her leg. Her eyes showed hesitation and doubt, and I kissed her small hand reassuringly.

"It's that man," she whispered. "The one who was talking to Gertrude from behind the door."

"Your father?"

Charlotte shook her head, frowning. "Papa hasn't ever been here."

No matter how many times I had told her that Erik Chartraine was her father, she refused to believe or accept it. Given that he had yet to make an appearance, I didn't blame her. She was confused and upset, and most likely would take a long time to recover from the events of the past month.

"What did you see that day, Charlotte. At...at the church, when that man was holding you?" I tapped the corner of the paper that stuck out from her leg. "His face...what did you see?"

"Bones," she mumbled. "He has bones for a face."

I couldn't think of anything to say to her. Was it possible, though I had not considered it, that he didn't meet with her to keep from frightening her? Couldn't he have still met her, with the cloak? With something? Anything?

"Charlotte, your father is upstairs," I said gently. "That man at the church...he is your father. Raoul loves you. Very much. But the man upstairs is your father."

"No," she said gravely. "Papa died, didn't he?" She patted my leg softly, looking far older than five years old. I had raised this child myself. She was mine, despite the lack of blood between us, she had always been mine. I would endure hell itself to keep her at my side, including living here forever if that was my fate. "That's why we're living here. Mama and Papa went to heaven."

"No, Lotte," I whispered. "Raoul is very much alive. So is your brother."

She shrugged slightly, and I knew she didn't believe me. "Why won't _he_ come see me then? If he really is my Papa, then he would come see me. Maybe he died too, Eva. And then you'll die...then I'll be all by myself with Madame du Brul."

Her desolate tone made me cry, and I put my arms around her, needing her comfort more than she wanted mine. She thought everyone would abandon her through death. I whispered to her that I wasn't going anywhere. I offered no words for the father that had done this to her.

If this was all Charlotte meant to him, he should have allowed her to return to Raoul.

- -

After dinner I loitered around the dining room, waiting for Madame du Brul to come inside and clear the dishes. She had avoided my questions regarding the letter, and I had not wanted to explode on her in front of Charlotte. I was not allowed inside the kitchen, and it infuriated me that there were a total of eight rooms within the house that I was permitted to enter, most of them used for Charlotte. It wasn't as if he was using them, although I knew it was not my place to judge a man for keeping his house closed to employees. He had grudgingly allowed us to use the _guest_ library, making me suspect there was another one within the house. I was beginning to wonder if Charlotte's father was paranoid, or suffered from a heightened nervous condition, similar to Madame du Brul's.

When she finally entered, she slid me a look of loathing, which I ignored. I really didn't like her, anymore than she liked me, but she was my link to the world outside. I had to put my trust in her, because there was no one else.

"Did you deliver it?" I asked eagerly, and the look she gave me indicated that she had not.

"Monsieur Chartraine did not find the contents of the letter amusing. It is in his possession now."

I did nothing more than breathe for several moments, certain that if I stopped I would release a scream. What right did he have? None! "I did not write it for his amusement, Madame," I replied furiously.

"He has requested the company of Mademoiselle Chartraine this evening, Madame. You have twenty minutes to prepare the child. I suggest you tend to your charge," she said, looking a bit pleased with herself.

"He _what?_ You're telling me this now?" I spat at her, feeling very much like hitting her. My ire was up, and she continued to taunt me with her cold, icy hostility. "Why didn't you inform me earlier?"

"He has just told me," she replied. "You may escort the Mademoiselle to the music room, but you are not allowed inside. She must go in alone. If she does not wish to go, then she does not have to. He asked me to tell you it is a request, not an order."

She left me there, gaping after her. He had _requested?_ The high and might Lord of the Rules had _requested?_ I nearly laughed, but fear propelled me upstairs to Charlotte, and I watched her for several moments, well aware of the ticking clock. She was sitting on the floor near her bed, watching Gertrude and Chester the cat wrestle. Oscar, the dachshund did not care for. Chester, on the other hand, fought with the dog as he would another cat.

She turned and smiled at me as Chester pinned Gertrude to the floor, batting gently at her with his paw.

"Charlotte, you...there is...you see..."

I stammered several times, unsure how I should broach the subject. I wanted her to go. I didn't want to frighten her, and deny his request. More than anything I wished for her to meet him, although it might be difficult to get her to agree to going by herself.

"What is it, Eva?" she questioned, sitting up amid a mountain of pink ruffles.

"Your father wishes to meet you," I whispered, forcing a casual tone. "He has requested your company this evening."

Her mouth fell open, and she turned her head quickly. I feared she would ignore me, and touched her knee gently.

"Charlotte, we don't have much time. You should change your dress...and we should do something with your hair..."

"No," she said quietly. She looked at me, her eyes showing her stubborn nature quite clearly. "This is my favorite dress, and Mama liked it when my hair was down."

"So you will go?" I asked eagerly, deciding to tell her later she would be alone with him.

Charlotte lifted her small shoulder, "I suppose. I know he won't let you leave. I have a favor to ask of him."


	8. A Father's Request

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

_Erik_

I was so nervous I was literally sweating. Of course running from the wall behind Charlotte's room to the music room had not helped my stamina, but I had been too impatient to know whether or not she would accept my invitation. I had wanted to know what Evangeline would do. Whether she would discourage her, or try to manipulate her into going. She had done neither, and it irritated me that I could not find a reason to fire her. If she had been incompetent, I would have done so already, but Evangeline Novelli was perfect for Charlotte. I hated her for being that close to my daughter, and from my observations I suspected she was the only one who possessed that bond with her.

Still...her letter today had sent a spiral of fear down into my heart. Mistrust reared its head, and I knew I needed to forge some sort of bond of my own with Charlotte until I could rid myself of Madame Novelli. I hoped that with time she would no longer need the governess. I could teach her everything. She never needed anyone but me...but would she accept me?

And I was very much curious about the favor my daughter wanted to ask me. I suspected it had to do with Evangeline, and I was worried about what I would have to say.

The shadows played along the walls in the music room, and I hurriedly lit a few lamps, illuminating half of the room. I had decided to keep the cloak for the moment, until I was sure whether or not Charlotte would be frightened of me. I had heard her confessions...she thought the mask was my skull. Thought my face was made of bones. The knowledge that she thought her entire family was dead had ripped stitches from my eyes, making me see what loneliness and isolation had done to her. I had to do something more for her...but what? She needed something, I knew it. I hated it. My blood fairly boiled in anger at the mere suggestion my conscience had given me. That she needed to see Raoul de Chagny. I, of course, as her father could bring her back at whim. She was not like Christine. Charlotte would have no choice, and be a mere puppet that I could control. I hated that as well...I didn't want to have to manipulate and force her to do anything. I wanted her to stay with me willingly. Not like her mother. I did not want my daughter to become a replacement for Christine.

I sat down at the piano bench, beating my shaking hands into submission with my mind. I felt violently ill inside, and wondered if I had time to run upstairs and vomit. Hearing footsteps outside the door, I knew that I did not. I listened, hearing Evangeline's soft voice, encouraging Charlotte, telling her everything would be fine. Charlotte did not answer, and I held my breath as the door opened behind me.

"You may take a seat, Mademoiselle Chartraine," Madame du Brul said brusquely, and I heard her small slippered feet as she dutifully followed the older woman. She placed her in the chair that I had directed her to earlier in the day, then left the room.

I didn't turn around immediately, feeling sweat mingle with sudden tears of panic and frustration. She was sitting behind me, and I could do nothing more than swallow a hard knot of bile that built inside my throat. I cleared it several times, wishing I had thought to have something to drink. A glass of wine. An entire bottle of whiskey. A keg. Something.

"Do you know who I am, Charlotte?" I finally asked her.

When she didn't answer, I half turned on the piano bench, seeing her looking small and frightened, still in her favorite dress, with her unbound hair wild and tangled around her face. She gave a small nod, and her lips trembled suddenly.

"Would you like Evangeline to come in here with you?"

Her eyes shifted slightly towards the door, and I knew that she wanted it very much. She said nothing, but her hands curled beneath her legs. I nearly cursed aloud, knowing I had already caused her to fear me. I had done nothing...barely said anything, and already she looked as if she thought I would eat her.

I stood slowly, moving away from her rather than closer. I didn't want Madame Novelli inside. Not yet...perhaps not ever. I had much I needed to say to Charlotte, and didn't want the scorn of the woman who had said so much about me already. I would deal with her tonight, but not in front of my daughter.

"I'm...I'm going to remove this, Mademoiselle," I said, indicating the cloak. "Do not be frightened of me. I will never harm you...you have my word."

"Okay," she whispered raspily, and I smiled beneath the cloak at her brave attempt to be polite.

Slowly I withdrew my head, careful not to jar the mask or my hairpiece, and draped the cloak over the back of the piano. She averted her eyes, although they flickered up to me several times.

"It isn't bone," I said gruffly, and she looked startled. Her eyes met mine for a moment, and she studied me carefully, as if to determine whether or not I spoke the truth. "Did...did you know that I knew your mother, Charlotte? I knew Christine, when she was a child, not much older than you."

"You knew my Mama?" she asked, looking at me in awe. I struggled not to chuckle, thinking, that I obviously had known her for her to exist.

"I did. I taught her how to sing. Did she ever sing for you, Charlotte?" I questioned, and she nodded her head vigorously. "Did she ever...," I paused, struggling to find some connection with Christine, even in her death, "...did she ever talk about angels? Or an Angel of Music?"

Her brow drew into a frown, and she shook her head. The knowledge disappointed me, and I bit my lip in anger. Somehow I had hoped Christine would have told her everything...that I could have slipped into the role of some story her mother had told her, and earn her trust through a memory. It hurt as well, my wounded pride, my male ego, that Christine had not mentioned me. Knowing Charlotte had been born of an act of pity was humiliating enough, but that she had never told our daughter one single thing about me was devastating.

I sank back down onto the piano bench, staring at my knees as I tried to think of something to say. She waited patiently, and I wondered if she was thinking about her favor.

"Do you like your room?" I finally asked her, merely to fill the silence hanging between us.

"I like my bed," she whispered, her lips tilting upwards for a moment. "Roses are my favorite...how did you know?"

"I...I didn't," I replied, unable to tell her that the bed had not been meant for her. "And do you suppose your pets are happy here? Carlos, and Gertrude? Oscar and Chester?"

She smiled widely, and the response took my breath away. "Carlos loves the hothouse. I cannot find him sometimes, and Eva says that he's a cham...camo..."

"Chameleon?" I supplied.

"Yes...she says he's that. It means he can change his skin."

"To suit his environment," I added, and she nodded her head, looking fairly relaxed. Then her eyes fixated on the mask, and she became very still. I was unsure what to tell her. Unsure what she needed to hear...what I wanted her to know. As long as I live I will never forget the screams of terror from people within the theater as they looked at me. I will never forget the look in Christine's eyes. The look in Raoul de Chagny's eyes.

I wanted my daughter to accept me. Wanted her to see that I was more than a mask. I could be more...I had to be, especially now that I had her.

"Do you know what this is, Charlotte?" I asked her gently, and touched the right side of my face. She didn't appear to know how to answer, so I powered through my fears and continued to expose my soul to this little child who could so easily destroy me. "This...this is made of leather...not bone. A mask, Mademoiselle. This is a mask."

Too polite to pester me with questions, but not having enough control not to stare, she merely looked at me.

"I'm your father," I managed to whisper to her, although I looked at my knees again. "I haven't known about you for very long. Only a few weeks now, but I want to provide you with everything you will require." I glanced up to find her watching me, and had no idea if I was speaking above her age or not. "I want you to stay. It would make me very happy, if you would stay here with me."

"In the music room?" she asked doubtfully.

I shook my head. "No, Charlotte. Here, in my home. I want you to stay here with me."

"Is my other Papa dead? Is that why he left me? Because he died?" she whispered, and I saw the way her eyes filled with tears. I couldn't correct her, despite the fact that her calling Raoul _'Papa'_ was enough to make me see red. I reminded myself, as I had dozens of times the last three weeks that I had to earn the title, and could not force it.

"No. Raoul is still alive, Charlotte. I will never lie to you," I said, my voice strong even though I felt incredibly weak. "I understand...I understand you have a favor to ask me. You may ask me now, if you wish."

"Okay," she said timidly. "I want to see my other Papa and my brother...and Eva wants to see her sister."

My heart constricted painfully, although I had suspected at least half of her wish. I knew before she had asked that I would do it, at least once. At least one time, so that maybe she could stop crying late into the night. So her governess could sleep alone, without the benefit of a sobbing child and whining dog. So that maybe Charlotte could exorcise the de Chagny family from her mind, once and for all.

"You have my word, Charlotte. By the end of this week, you will see the de Chagny's, and Eva will be permitted to see her sister, provided she agrees to something. Now, since you have requested two things, I must ask two things in return."

I bargained with my daughter as if she were a horse dealer, swapping favors in exchange for one to benefit the other. I suspected my reward would be so much greater than hers, if I only could summon the courage to ask, and she the compassion to agree.

"Yes?"

"A hug, from you, Mademoiselle," I whispered, feeling cold despair settle into my heart. "A hug...and of course, a kiss..."

- -

My request hung in the air for several moments, and I risked a glance at the holder of my heart. She didn't appear appalled, although she certainly was making no attempts to complete the task.

"Is that all?" she finally demanded.

"That is all," I said simply, although there was nothing simple in my wish. I stamped down memories and fears, doubts and regrets, merely waiting to be denied again, but wanting to believe for a moment that I would not be.

"Are you sure?" she asked, sounding suspicious.

"I am an easy man to please, Mademoiselle. Do this for me, and you may visit Monsieur de Chagny, and Eva may see her sister."

Charlotte slid from her chair, and I clenched my knees tightly as she approached slowly. Her eyes met mine in the dim room, and I noticed once again that they were her mother's eyes. She was the sweetest, most innocent thing I had ever seen, and she was mine in a way that could not be broken.

Her arms raised, and I lowered my head obligingly as her slightly chubby arms fastened around my neck. I breathed deeply of roses, feeling her soft curls against my face, feeling her cheek against mine. She was breathing quick and shallow breaths, like a frightened rabbit, or a wounded doe, and I made the decision to wrap my arms around her without consulting my good sense. She didn't fight me, but felt weightless and stiff in my arms as I squeezed her tightly. I knew that I trembled, and struggled not to hurt her with my shaking emotions. It had been so long since anyone had touched me...since Christine, to be precise, and before that there had been a vast empty stretch of no one.

She braced her hands on my shoulders as I carefully set her down, stood on her toes and laid the softest kiss against my left cheek. I drew my head back, touching the spot reverently as I gazed into her eyes. Her inquisitive hand touched my right jaw, then slid stealthily up to the mask. I held my breath and allowed her to touch it, knowing it couldn't be removed as easily as her mother had done. I had seen to that earlier when I had made the decision to meet with her. Her questions appeased, she took a step away from me and smiled shyly.

"Thank you, Charlotte," I whispered, and to my horror, I began to cry.


	9. Recommendation

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

**_- -_**

I want to tell you this is my own version of Erik, based on a history unrelated to Kay. I have not decided what, if any references I will include from Leroux. Thank you and enjoy.

**_- -_**

_Eva_

Charlotte sailed out of the room, a smile of bliss on her face, informing me, "He isn't crying anymore. You can go in now."

She had been in there so long, and the room so silent I had wanted to break through Madame du Brul's position outside the doors to see how she was doing. Madame's eyes widened at the suggestion that her employer was crying, and mine did as well. I knew that Monsieur Chartraine would have heard her, because the door was still wide open, and I could see faint light coming from one side of the room.

"He wants to see me?" I asked Charlotte, and she nodded. "Then you may go to your room and wait for me."

I was spoiling for a fight, and she certainly didn't need to hear me screaming at her father. Although if he had been crying, likely his temper would already be up. I wondered briefly what he would look like in a true temper, but having no idea what he looked like anyway I couldn't really imagine it. His stubbornness had cost me precious days, and the letter and money had been a desperate attempt to buy me some time.

I watched Charlotte until she had skipped down the hall and turned the corner to her room. Eyeing Madame du Brul with distaste, I stepped around her and closed the doors behind me. Erik was standing behind a piano with his arms crossed, what appeared to be the same cloak from the funeral over his head. The door was in the middle of the music room, and roughly half of the space was in shadows. The shadows propelled me closer to him, closer to the light, and I stood awkwardly on the opposite side of the piano waiting for him to speak. I couldn't see his face, merely that same irritatingly mysterious cloak, and I wondered if he had allowed Charlotte to see him.

"Towards the end of this week," he finally began, and I detected a faint sullen tone as he spoke, "Charlotte will be permitted to see Raoul and her brother. I have not decided how or where, but I wanted to give you ample time to be prepared."

I was certain my mouth fell open, and checked promptly to make sure it had not hit the floor. I wondered if this was the favor Charlotte had been so secretive about, and selfishly wondered if I had been included in the wish.

"That's...that's very generous of you, Monsieur Chartraine," I said, hoping I sounded like I was groveling, which I was. "Charlotte will be very pleased."

"I want to encourage you to continue telling Charlotte that_ I _am her father. And also, Madame du Brul has my instructions that she will be addressed as Mademoiselle Chartraine. I cannot force her to do anything she does not want to do, of course, but I think hearing a few small words to undo the past will not hurt...will it, Madame Novelli?"

"Of course not," I whispered, feeling slightly numb. I wondered what else Madame du Brul had told him about my conversations with Charlotte, and with herself. I hoped I had not jeopardized my position and the chance for freedom with my big mouth.

"Charlotte also asked that you be permitted to see your sister. I will allow her one visit to my home, and after that I will determine if she may come again," he said quietly, shifting slightly on the balls of his feet. He withdrew a familiar envelope from his cloak, as well as the money and laid it against the piano. "Provided of course, that you explain _this_."

- -

"It isn't your concern," I managed to say, while cleverly managing not to shout it at him.

"Not my concern?" he repeated, and reached for the letter._ "Her safety is my only priority. If you require more money, I shall find a way to give it to you. Remember what we agreed upon. Keeping him away from her is the only thing to keep her safe."_

He tossed the letter back to the piano, and folded his arms again.

"You surely knew I would not allow anything to leave here without looking at it first."

I nodded my head, beginning to feel uneasy now.

"You were going to have me committed, so that you could have your freedom, Madame?" He made a tsking sound, and gave a hollow laugh. "All you had to do was ask."

"I have asked!" I shot back angrily, slamming my palm against his piano. "And the letter has nothing to do with you or Charlotte. It was_ personal. **Private.**_ Do the words mean nothing to you?"

"Not really, no."

"I want that letter sent, Monsieur. You must allow Madame du Brul to deliver it, or allow me to do it."

"Tell me who it's for," he said simply. "And I will decide."

It angered me that he still sought to interfere. I wanted to do something as juvenile as Charlotte, because I was so frustrated and stressed, knowing there was nothing I could do but tell him. It was not his business. It wasn't anyone's business. Christine had known, damn her, and I had promised on Rebbecca's life that I would protect Charlotte. I would have done it anyway, but it was cruel of her to use Rebbecca against me.

"My sister. The letter is for a guard. The money is for her protection," I said through clenched teeth.

"A pitiful amount of money, to protect someone's life. Tell me, Madame, have you ever been inside Salpetriere?" he asked, raising his hands philosophically. "It isn't what I would call a pleasant residence. Is she one of the _unfortunate souls_, Madame? One of the..._oddities_?"

His tone sent a chill through me, and I wondered just what it was he was hiding. "Have you been there, Monsieur?" I whispered in a small voice.

"Not that one...no...but I believe they are all the same. Salpetriere is mostly for women, is it not? Bicetre was more common for men...or boys, rather, which is what I was." He tapped the money, "This is not enough for her protection, Madame. Not for a day. Not for one single damned minute. I don't know why you thought you could bribe a guard, unless you know him personally, but I'm telling you it is all in vain."

I struggled to hold onto my naivety, while in the back of my mind a voice screamed that he was right. I had always known, but I could never stop trying. Never stop hoping. I had made myself sick with worry, but the money I sent to Salpetriere was the only thing that helped me retain my sanity. Feeling my knees weaken, I sat down in a high backed chair that was behind me. My mouth ran dry as I remembered the one time I had been allowed to see Rebbecca. Her cries, her desperate pleading. The screams of the infirm all around me, and the dizzying madness that the entire hospital had seemed to succumb to.

"What reason was given for her admittance?" he asked me.

"Attempted murder."

"Was she falsely accused?" he prodded, moving slowly around the piano. He sat down on the bench, and I thought for a moment he would remove the cloak, but he merely waited for my response.

"No. No, she was not," I said softly. "But...she had a very good reason, Monsieur. And, of course, she missed after all."

"Missed? She shot someone?"

"Her husband. And yes, unfortunately she missed. Otherwise, she probably would have gotten away with it, and the bastard would be dead. Unfortunately he survived from his injuries...and instead of being executed, he had her committed. He claimed he had seen her suffer from seizures, which was not true, but his merciful act of compassion landed her in Salpetriere."

"The letter, Madame Novelli, indicated that _she_ needed protection from someone in particular. I assumed you were referring to Charlotte, and the heinous individual was myself. Is it perhaps your sister...and her husband you were speaking of?" he asked softly.

"Rebbecca's husband...he is still in charge of me. He was our guardian, but he married my sister. I suspect if he wished to, he could take her out and continue his ill treatment of her. I also think that if he knew I was in Paris, he would attempt to have me sent there with her. He has indicated in the past that he would do so, and I have no reason not to believe him," I replied, fighting the urge to rub my hand across the lump of ice that had settled into my stomach. After all this time, Victor Clarke could still make my blood run cold. "Please, Monsieur, I beg you to let me go to her. I...I have to continue paying the guard. It's the only thing I know to do. I've lived with this for too long...lived this way. Please. You must know what it's like inside there...and yes I have been. I know what happens when the Seine rises, and they leave them chained to their beds to drown. I know how many unpregnant women go in...and how many infants come out. It isn't like that in the entire hospital. If a man wishes, and it is always a man, his relative can live in luxury in the upper rooms. Like Christine. And-"

"Christine?" he interrupted swiftly. "Christine was at Salpetriere?"

"Well...yes. That's where I first met the de Chagny's. She was not there in the same manner as Rebbecca. Christine was a very...fragile woman. Charlotte was born in Salpetriere. So was..."

He interrupted me before I could say my own child, but I was grateful that he had. I chose not to think about that. Not to remember it.

"Charlotte was born in an asylum?" he growled at me, and I sat straighter in my chair at his tone. "Why?"

"Because that was where Christine was at the time...and Raoul believed it was best for her, considering," I whispered, but did not want to delve into her mental health. I knew there had been a time she had been extremely delusional...or perhaps distraught. I suspected that it had a great deal to do with this man, and I was not prepared to accuse him of any such thing. "She was not ill treated, Monsieur, and she went willingly for observation. She wanted what was best for the...for Charlotte...even before she was born. And it _is_ possible to buy things in Salpetriere. If your name happens to be de Chagny, or Clarke. I had only hoped to-"

"How did he treat my daughter?"

I gave up trying to tell him anything else about myself. It was obvious now that I had mentioned Christine, he wasn't interested in my life.

"Raoul? He loves her, Monsieur. Very much. There was never even an indication...until Christine became ill during her second...pregnancy...that he was not her father. He is, or was, a very doting father. He did not want to give her up," I said quite bluntly. I had no idea if my words angered him or not, but I suspected that they did. "The choice was Christine's. A last request, if you will."

"He could have denied it," he said simply. "He could have claimed her as his own, and no one would have suspected. Or he could have disregarded her wishes. Why didn't he?"

"Christine sent you a letter, Monsieur. He knew you would be coming for your daughter. He chose to release her, instead of making her choose, or trying to fight with you. I'm not certain...but I think losing Charlotte was just as hard as losing his wife."

"I don't need your opinion," he sneered, sounding as if I had intentionally assaulted him. "I don't care about what was hard for poor, unhappy Raoul."

I decided to be silent for once, and allow him to calm down. It was obvious he was still resentful of the Vicomte, and my mind shied away from the story of the Phantom. I had to stop seeing him in that light. I needed to remember that he was Charlotte's father, and hope that he would be there for her the way she needed him to. I felt that there were deep emotions in him, but since I could not see his eyes, nor tell whether or not he was frowning, I wasn't sure.

"I must make a decision, Madame," he sighed, releasing his pent up anger in one long breath. "I do not trust Monsieur de Chagny. I do not want to allow Charlotte to leave, or visit him. I do not want him to see her at all, in fact, but I want to make her happy. She has requested it, and I suspect there is very little I will be able to deny her. But...I am more reluctant to allow him into my home. I would not care to witness the...affection...between them. Do you understand what I mean?"

I nodded dumbly, feeling sympathy for him suddenly. He intimidated me, aggravated me, and greatly annoyed me with his insistence on secrecy and cloak and daggers. But I could understand him not wanting to see the man who first won the woman he desired, then raised his daughter as his own. I know Raoul feels the same, but I don't think _his _pride will keep him from seeing Charlotte.

"You are very close to her, Madame Novelli. What would you recommend?"


	10. An Understanding of Sorts

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

_Erik_

Evangeline's eyes widened at my question, and I could tell just how stunned she was that I would ask her opinion on the matter. Her words about Christine had hurt, more than I cared to admit, because I know I am responsible for Christine being infirmed. She began to smile, obviously feeling special because the vampire had included her in a decision about Charlotte.

"Well," she said slowly, "I understand your reluctance to allow her to leave, but there is a whole staff of people who were devoted to Charlotte at the de Chagny residence. She misses them all...unfortunately it likely won't be possible for her to see her old home...but there is one at the de Chagny estate here in Paris."

"Yes, I know," I said dryly. "A picture perfect pink room, for a princess."

Say that twelve times fast. Eva's mouth twisted as she hid another smile, and I knew she wondered if I had ever been there. Yes, I had, but I wasn't about to tell her so she could tell Raoul. He would shoot me on sight for trespassing if I even thought of going there now, not that he would ever see me.

"On the other hand, if you allowed Raoul to come here, he could see just how beautiful your home is, and that Charlotte is being well cared for."

Her answer surprised me, and I felt my heart lift at her praise. Although I had done nothing more than throw money at Madame du Brul to provide for Charlotte, I had done it nonetheless. I did want to show him that I was capable of caring for her. I wanted to show him (although he had never flaunted his good looks or money at me) that I was just as good as he was. For Charlotte. And for Christine. Maybe it wasn't him I wanted to prove it to. Maybe it was myself.

"It will take time, Monsieur, for Charlotte to adjust," she said gently. "I have been with her for a long time. I was chosen for her before she was born, and I'm sorry to say, but her parents weren't always there for Charlotte like she needed them to be. She's very insecure...especially about being abandoned. Especially now."

"You said he was a good father," I said accusingly.

"He was. But he was a busy man. They...they only allowed her to visit them one hour each day. It isn't uncommon with titled families, but Charlotte certainly needed more. And after Christine became weak," she sighed, and threw her hands up dismissively, "she resorted to hiding in cupboards to spy on her parents. She knew Christine was ill before I did. She was listening when Christine told me what she wanted me to do. That she wanted me to go with you when you...came for Lotte."

I suppressed laughter, merely because the idea of Charlotte hiding around Christine's deathbed made me ill. But the fact that my daughter was an eavesdropper was almost too much irony for me to bear. I had thought, even after I completed the house, that I would be alone forever. I had been determined to stay here until I died, and perhaps one day Madame du Brul, or her equally cranky replacement would find me upstairs once the place began to stink. My plans, it seemed, had been changed.

"Monsieur, about my sister..."

It crossed my mind that her brother in law could find her, and make good on his promise to commit her. He could do any number of things, but it really wasn't my concern. Perhaps he would do me a favor and take her off my hands, although I was beginning to feel vaguely fond of her, if only because it was obvious she loved my daughter.

"You may go see her. Tomorrow, if that is your wish," I said softly. "I apologize for...everything...Madame. I hope that covers it, because there are a lot of things I do regret, regarding your detainment here. I hope your sister is well."

She seemed to melt within the chair, and I recognized the relief in her eyes. I felt guilt for not listening to her, for not accepting her request sooner. If not for Charlotte, I would still not have had this discussion with her, and now that it was over with I felt immensely relieved.

"Thank you, Monsieur Chartraine," she whispered, adding to my guilt. She should not have thanked me for releasing her from the veritable prison I had created for myself, and trapped her within. I still didn't trust her, but I could not dismiss the desperation in her amber eyes, or the hope in her voice that I would let her go.

"Do be safe, Madame Novelli."

She nodded her head vigorously, loosing some of her dark red hair from it's confines. Self consciously she tucked it behind her ears, and bit her lip. My kindness had taken her by surprise, and she was still trying to peer inside the cloak. I was hiding evidence of the grief that my daughter had brought out in me, and knew Charlotte had declared my weakness to both of the women. Embarrassed I had covered myself up, and could think of no sane reason why I should take it off now.

"Monsieur...?"

"Yes?"

Her eyes left mine...or what she perceived to be my eyes...and settled behind me on the piano.

"Charlotte was asking before her mother died, if she could learn piano. Would you consider it suitable if I gave her a lesson?"

"She wants to learn?" I asked, unable to hide a thread of impatient joy.

"At one time, yes. I haven't asked her recently, but I believe it would be good for her soul. I'm afraid I am not the most skilled, but I can manage to bungle my way through most pieces," she said, giving a small laugh.

I cringed at the idea of even one missed note, curling my hands around my knees. She looked down at them suddenly, and I realized for once I had not worn gloves. I tugged my shirt lower around my wrists, hoping she could not see the rope scars surrounding them.

"If you don't mind, Madame, I would prefer if you didn't. If Charlotte wants to learn music, then I will be more than happy to teach her," I said, trying to keep a light and casual tone. I wasn't certain what she knew of my past, but I suspected she knew everything. I only hoped she didn't tell anyone, because I would hate to leave my lovely home, with my lovely daughter.

"Will you see her?" she asked suddenly, and I knew she had spoken without thinking. "I mean...will you visit her, Monsieur? I know she would like it, very much. She used to be a very engaging child...very talkative...very rambunctious. She has changed a great deal in the last year or so...and I'm uncertain if you've heard of her tantrums-"

"It is hard not to hear them-"

"-but they never occurred before her mother became ill. She's always been a little spoiled," she said, but she smiled tenderly, "but she has always been an angel."

"Charlotte may see me anytime she wishes. All she has to do is ask," I said softly. "And I will consider...loosening the reins on your tether, Madame Novelli. I must warn you though, my trust is a very, very precious thing. If you lose it, then I'm not certain what your future here will look like. Decidedly grim, for one. But I will consider your plight. I have heard your requests. I will try to listen more objectively next time."

"Thank you," she said, and stood abruptly. "If you'll excuse me, Monsieur, it has been sometime now, and I would not want to leave Charlotte alone for too long."

"Of course," I returned, rising just as quickly.

She left, leaving me to ponder the evening. It seemed we had reached an understanding of sorts, although I was not sure what it would lead to. I still really didn't want her here. I selfishly wanted Charlotte all to myself, but realized vaguely that it was not possible. I had spent all of half an hour with her. What would she do with herself if I ran her governess off? I wanted to spend more time with her this week, in preparation for Raoul's visit. And I had decided to make him come to me. It would be difficult to watch...but I was curious to see it. I hated him with passion, but mostly because he was everything I was not. It would not be easy, but I knew that if my daughter wanted to see him, then I would be powerless to stop it. The only thing I could do was ensure she remained in my home, and slept in her own bed each night. There was little I could do for her heart...except perhaps somehow find a place inside.


	11. La Salpetriere

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

_Eva_

I fairly skipped to my room. I was so elated...so relieved. The unexpected turn had given me hope in this dark and morbidly depressing house. I had complimented him on it without telling him how much sunshine it could have used. It was a beautiful house...but I could tell no woman had ever had her hands on it. My hours of isolation with Charlotte had a light at the end of the tunnel, and I was prepared to do anything to remain in his good graces. I could withstand anything. I would live here forever, if only he would allow me out to see Rebbecca, or to at least attempt to see her.

And the mood was infectious. Charlotte was singing to herself in her bed, something I had not heard her do in such a long time. In pure joy I lifted her in my arms and spun her around in the air before I embraced her hard.

"Is he letting you go, Eva?" she asked, smiling at me like heaven.

"Yes, little hen. Thank you...I don't know what you said to him, but thank you," I whispered, and rained a million kisses on her elfin face.

"He said I could go see my other Papa," she said confidentially.

"Charlotte...he is your only Papa. You should come up with another name for Raoul," I said gently. "Perhaps Monsieur de Chagny will allow you to call him by his given name."

She frowned slightly, and I wondered if I should pressure her. Erik was right. It should not be forced, but I knew it was something he desired, and I knew he would want her to learn it before Raoul visited with her. I hoped his expectations were not too high, because she was only five. The moment she saw Raoul, she would call him what she had always called him, no matter what she called Erik.

"Are you sleeping in here tonight, Charlotte?" I asked, indicating the dachshund and the two cats who were piled on her bed. She was nestled in between them, as if to keep the dog away from Oscar.

She nodded eagerly. "He didn't even know roses were my favorite...and look!" she exclaimed, pointing to the carved bed posts. "Aren't they pretty?"

It was the first sign she had given that she could be happy here, and I smiled, listening to her chat about the bed for a few more minutes. She was expressive, exuberant. More animated than I had seen her in a long time, and it was all because Erik had granted her request. I knew it must have been difficult for him, to allow her to see Raoul, but he had done what was best. She needed to know that Raoul wasn't dead. That not everyone had abandoned her when Christine had died.

"You're flying high tonight, aren't you, angel?" I asked, chuckling softly as she fairly bounced from the bed. "He made you very happy, didn't he?"

"Yes, Eva," she sighed, looking so sweet, and lay back against the pillows. "Did he make you happy?"

I smiled and nodded, then pressed a kiss to her nose. "I think I might rather miss you tonight," I confessed, feeling slightly guilty for having wanted my bed to myself in the past. "I don't think I shall miss your entourage of animals...especially Gertrude," I laughed when the dog raised her head and stared at me, "but I shall definitely miss you. I think she has gained perhaps ten pounds since we have arrived here."

"I shall miss you," she whispered, giving me a shy smile. "I love you, Eva. And Gertrude is _rounder_ because that man gives her treats, and tells her to shush."

"That man?" I asked, instantly amused. "You mean your Papa?"

She nodded. "I heard him talking to her, and he gives her treats and tells her to be quiet."

I hadn't even been aware that Erik made it to the second floor, let alone had a fondness for bribing animals. I smiled, wondering how much Erik had been around while I had been unaware of it. I hoped he had not heard my vampire cracks, although he had told me I could address him however I pleased.

"Do you hear him a lot?"

She shook her head. "No. But I think he likes Gertrude. He told her she was funny, and reminded him of a polish sausage."

"She does resemble a frankfurter, doesn't she?"

Charlotte giggled, and reached out to scratch the dog's ear. Glancing around a moment, I decided to consider my next words carefully.

"Charlotte...why did your Papa cry? Did something upset him?" I asked softly.

She gave a small shrug, looking at me with her innocent wide eyes. "He said if I gave him a hug and a kiss, that he would let me go see Raoul, and you could go see your sister. And then he cried a lot, and said he was _very_ sorry. And he let me touch his mask, Eva, and it isn't bone. It felt sorta like Carlos's skin, except it was soft, and it was white." She frowned for a moment. "I don't know why he wears it. It makes him look like a ghost. It goes like this." She demonstrated by tracing half of her forehead, down her nose, and across the top of her mouth. I wondered what was on the other side.

I struggled to keep any expression from my face, and felt deep regret for the words I had said about Erik. I should have been more sensitive to what Raoul had said about his mask. Realized that there was probably a lot of things about him he would want to keep hidden, and how much it could hurt him when I was lashing out.

"I...I don't know, Lotte," I whispered. "Sometimes people have accidents. Sometimes...sometimes they get hurt. Maybe your Papa was hurt. You mustn't be scared of him though. He isn't really a ghost, okay?"

"Okay," she promised. "I was scared at first...but he said he knew my Mama. Did you know that?"

"Well...I had a suspicion," I said, trying not to smile. "How would you feel if he gave you piano lessons? Would you like that?"

"Oh, yes," Charlotte said, instantly lighting up. "Mama said I should practice everyday, so I could be as good as you. Will you teach me too?"

I grinned, thinking of my subtle deception. Erik most likely would not mind that I had tricked him into offering to teach Charlotte piano, but I had wanted to give him a solid reason to see her every day. "I teach you plenty of other things, little hen. I think I'll let your Papa teach you about music. Will that suit you?"

"If you'll listen to me play."

"Sometimes, and if your Papa permits it, I would love to be present for your lesson. Now, tomorrow I'll be going to see my sister. I suppose you will be attended by Madame du Brul..."

She groaned audibly, her mouth twisting into annoyance. "I don't like her."

"Charlotte, you _will _behave for Madame du Brul. You must continue to be on good behavior this week. You will have a visitor...or be visited...and must be nice to Madame du Brul. Am I understood?"

"Yes, Eva."

I tucked the blankets over her tightly, and kissed her cheek. Her hair would be in wild disarray in the morning, but she was already in bed and I could see no sense in getting her up merely to put it into plaits.

"I love you, Lotte. I suppose I shall see you in the morning."

She looked entirely too young as I left her alone in that massive bed, and I went to mine alone, wondering exactly what it was about Erik that made me think he was more than a legend. More than a scary story that the papers had embellished upon. I wondered what he had endured in Bicetre, famous for it's perverted prisoner Marquis de Sade. Erik had hidden from me his wrists, and I knew what sort of methods of restraint they used in asylums. I had been restrained myself, during the birth of my child, although I had not been committed to Salpetriere. I knew Rebbecca suffered though, and I remembered that Erik had told me he had been a boy when he had been at Bicetre.

I felt lonely as I lay there, imagining Rebbecca living in that cold empty hospital for the last six years. Imagining myself there with her, and wondering what I would have done if I had been committed with her. And I would have, if my child had not died, and the de Chagny's had not offered me the position for Charlotte. I had seized the chance, leaving my sister to fend the guards and her husband all alone, hoping only that I could provide her protection with money, even if I could not free her.

I still hoped for that chance, although I knew it was slim. And if I wasn't careful, I could still find out what it was like to live there, just as Rebbecca.

- -

"You're coming with me?" I asked Madame du Brul.

"Yes, Madame. Monsieur Chartraine has insisted on it," she said dramatically, as if allowing me to leave would be a crime. I felt vaguely irritated, but decided not to make a fuss. At least he had not changed his mind entirely.

"Who is watching Charlotte?" I asked doubtfully.

"I believe Monsieur Chartraine is capable of keeping an eye on the child," she said, looking at me with a secretive smile. "Now, come along. The gardener does not have all day to drive you around the city."

She tromped out ahead of me, and I gave a little wave to Charlotte who was sitting at the top of the stairs. Her spiritedness had worn off when she realized I would be leaving her alone, and I knew she was concerned about me returning. In truth, I was a little relieved that Madame du Brul would be going. At least she could tell them if Victor happened to be at the hospital, and happened to see me. Taking a hint from Erik, I had wrapped a cloak around my head, hoping to hide my distinguishable Novelli hair, which Rebbecca and I had inherited from our mother.

The ride to Salpetriere brought more nervousness and more anxiety, and I was glad that Madame du Brul insisted on staying in the carriage. Her disposition alone was enough to drive me mad. I didn't need to give them an actual reason to commit me. I glanced behind me to the carriage before I went into the admissions office, requesting an escort to see Rebbecca Clarke. The nurse there stared at me for several moments, then turned to a massive filing cabinet.

Anxiously I looked around, hoping I did not see Victor anywhere. No one was about this early in the morning, and I breathed deeply to calm my racing heart. The light coming through the cupola was almost beautiful, disguising the ugliness of the place with it's architectural magnificence. The most comforting place in Salpetriere was the chapel, and I had been there weeping when I had first met Christine. We had both been heavy with child at the time, and alone in the chapel I had looked into her trusting face and told her why my heart had been broken. I had discovered how close her room was to mine, and she visited me hours before she had given birth to Charlotte, and only minutes after my own child had died. When the doctor had told Christine she could not produce sufficient sustenance for Charlotte, they had practically begged me to leave Paris with them. With Victor mere inches away, breathing down my neck with his raging fire, I had agreed. At twenty, I had become a surrogate mother to Charlotte, and now at twenty five I was perhaps the only one she had left.

"Madame, may I have your name, please?" the nurse inquired.

"Madame Ina Clarke," I lied, giving my deceased mother's first name, and Rebbecca's last. If they reported it to Victor, he would already know who had visited his wife. I was the only one who knew Rebbecca, but I felt like lying anyway.

"Well," she frowned, "your name is not on the list of relatives permitted to see Rebbecca Clarke. I'm afraid there is only one, and that is her husband. You will have to get his consent, Madame."

"Is there a guard on duty named Tomas Costas?" I whispered, and stealthily showed her a bundle of money.

"Yes...," she said warily, glancing around. "You might find him down the hall, Madame Clarke. I advise you," she took the money and tucked it inside her uniform, "do not be seen."

I slipped past her, pulling my cloak around me tighter. I could remember the young guard I had first met in Salpetriere with fondness, although he would have changed in the five years since I had last seen him. I sent money to him on a regular basis, although I generally preferred to have it sent to his home. My last contact with him had been over three months ago, when he had written to tell me Rebbecca had been moved from the lower end, where the Seine could rise, to the upper side. Victor had encouraged the hospital to punish her when she was excessively disobedient, and I knew that if he had his way, more would have been done to her than simply solitary confinement in the tank rooms near the river.

I stopped at the end of the hall and glanced around the corner. There were four guards, two on each end, and I thought one of them might have been Tomas. He was half Spanish, half Italian, and if it weren't for him being several years younger than me, he would have made an excellent catch, if I had ever been looking. I waited patiently for what seemed like forever until I could catch a glimpse of a face, seeing it was indeed Tomas.

When I had almost given up, the two guards on the right side left, and the one with Tomas sank down into a chair. I waved my hand rapidly out into the hall with more money, and he glanced my way immediately. He slid a glance towards his counterpart, murmured something, then headed towards me.


	12. A Scheme for Selfish Reasons

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

--

Assume Erik hears everything.

--

_Erik_

"Good morning, Charlotte," I said hesitantly, and she spun around on me in open mouth surprise. I had just stepped through the wall behind her, and was now standing mere feet away from where she had been sitting since Evangeline had left.

"Good morning," she whispered, her head tilting back to look up at me. Feeling slightly intimidated, she took a step back, and I crouched instinctively in response.

I almost asked her if she remembered who I was, but discarded it. I had hated it when I was younger when people spoke to me condescendingly, so I merely waited for her to adjust to my sudden appearance.

"Have you seen Gertrude?" she asked softly. "She was just here a moment ago...and now she's gone."

Yes, I had seen her, and had the feeling she was inside the walls somewhere. The damn dog had darted past me a moment ago, no doubt finding joy and delight with discovering if there were vermin in the passageways.

"She's around here somewhere," I promised evasively. "Can you keep a secret, Charlotte?"

She nodded her head, looking up at me in great enthusiasm. I wasn't so certain about her abilities, but I had the feeling my secret wouldn't remain a secret much longer anyway. And I had the sudden urge to show my daughter what I was capable of. To show her something I had done, hoping to impress her in some way.

"Did you know I built this house?" I questioned, and she stared at me blankly. I stood and touched the bannister almost lovingly, the only home I had ever truly had or loved, one that I built myself. "I...I used to build palaces, Charlotte. A very long time ago. Have you ever heard of a place called Persia? No? I shall have to tell you a couple of stories of my time there one day. Not all of them," I added sternly, and she merely continued to watch me, "but perhaps some will be suitable for you. Would you like that?"

"Yes, please."

Her response to nearly everything, unless it was something she absolutely abhorred. I knew quite a few of my daughter's likes and dislikes by now, but for the most part she was an agreeable child. Much like her mother, in many ways.

"Have you ever been inside a secret passageway?"

Charlotte's eyes lit up instantly, taken with a mystery no child in their right mind could resist. Unless they were chronically afraid of their own shadow. I beckoned her closer with a single finger, giving a wry smile as she moved slowly towards me. Moving carefully, so she could see what I was doing, I depressed the panel near my one of many hidden doors, and watched as her mouth parted in an expressive 'O'.

"Would you like to come inside?"

- -

I showed her through the lower part of the house, amusing her when we stopped to watch the cook work alone in the kitchen. I held my hand over Charlotte's mouth, crouching down next to her and trying to keep her from giggling. It felt wonderful to be so close to her. To see her childlike innocence, and delight that was for something I did. Hiding in the walls to observe her was nothing compared to actually being with her. Touching her arm. Her shoulder. Occasionally lifting a spiral curl to feel the silkiness. She saw it as a great adventure, and for the most part kept silent as we watched the large German woman working. If she suspected there was a child and grown man watching from behind the wall, she said nothing. Likely any noises on our part, and she would have run screaming into the forest, and I would have to find her replacement.

She delighted in passing by the music room on the second floor, but I shied away from taking her towards her bedroom. I was certain her governess would not approve of my spying, and it would lead to her finding out that there were such opportunites in every room, including hers. I didn't take her towards the third floor, though I knew that one day soon I would. I had destroyed any new drawings of Christine, certain if pining over another man's wife was not pathetic, then loving his dead wife was even worse. Everything else of my former life was hidden away, and perhaps one day Charlotte would discover the man behind the legend of the Phantom was her father.

I mourned Christine. I missed her. But I had done so for five years. For all the years before that, when I had known she would never be mine. Her dying was monumental in my life. I would always love Christine, but now I knew it was not possible for me to win her. Ever. And I refused to believe that given a chance again, she would have made the same choice. I knew things about her Raoul could never begin to understand, and would always cherish her memory, even if I had to stop considering her return in my life as the only way I could move forward.

Carving this life out, and the subsequent work I had completed and sold were just another way for me to fill the lonely hours. I sold music. Pieces, various arias, various melodies or lyrics. I sold other things as well, all of them artistic endeavors. Not artwork itself. I would never be that great...art was too visual, but I had sold a gothic novel or twelve in the last two years. Some of them works that had been half completed for years, some of them fresh ideas that just seemed to roll through me. I had no idea what critics thought of my work. I did not care. It kept my bank account cushioned, and as long as I was able to think, and had hands, I would continue. I was, in a way, my own inspiration. I would do whatever was necessary to ensure my daughter had a bright and happy future.

As much as I wanted to, though, I could not let go of the possessiveness. I wanted her to myself. I wanted Evangeline to leave, so I could have Charlotte's affection and love all for my own. It was selfish...but I have never claimed to not be anything other than the most selfish of men. I have had to be. It has been the only way to retain a little part of myself, as well as my sanity. I had given up Christine. I had given her what she wanted, making her happy. It had been Raoul.

I would give Charlotte anything...but not her freedom.

- -

Charlotte preceded me through the narrow passageway that led back to the landing of the stairs. There were dual stairs actually, with a wall bisecting them. One was hidden, slightly dusty from the dry air that filtered through the passageways, and the other the magnificent and beautiful marble that Madame du Brul pretended to polish occasionally. Depositing the now found, and equally delighted Gertrude on the floor, I watched Charlotte as she attempted to scoop the twenty pound dog up into her arms.

I was going to have to find something to bribe her with other than cheese. The dog was wreaking havoc on my personal stash that I kept upstairs. It amused me that Charlotte knew I fed her dog and told her quite firmly to be quiet. But I had needed to make her acquaintence in whatever way I could. Even if I resorted to subterfuge.

"Charlotte, would you like a piano lesson this evening?" I asked her, smiling slightly as she scratched the dog's ears.

"Yes, please."

I longed to hear her call me something, but dared not ask. I felt a niggle of doubt, and a load of guilt that I was planning on getting rid of Evangeline. She was helping my cause, for the moment, but I longed to experience the sensation of being able to kiss my daughter's face repeatedly. To swing her in my arms, and hear her laughter that is meant only for me. I would forever be grateful to Evangeline for placing the piano lesson idea in my mind. I suspected now, after listening to their conversation, that she would have been an adequate teacher.

But I? I choose, quite conceitfully, to think of myself as a master. My logic and ideas are the only great thing about me, and if I could open my child's mind through music..._my music_...then I would experience greater joy than I ever believed possible. I wanted Charlotte to myself. And somehow during our time alone together, I had realized it was possible. I could care for her myself. I could.

But how could I get rid of the governess, and keep Charlotte happy at the same time? My plot would need a stable foundation. I merely needed the vaguest idea...then my work could begin.

--

Please point out spelling/grammar errors. I typed this at work. Thanks.


	13. Saved by the Crone

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

_Eva_

I noticed immediately that he was leading me away from the entrance that would lead to where he had indicated in his letter that Rebbecca's room was. I said nothing for awhile as Tomas grasped my arm and hurried me down the hall back towards the admissions office, then veering sharply into another room that seemed to be storage for towels. As he closed the door, I tugged my cloak off, giving him a hesitant smile.

"Tomas," I said warmly, but he spun around on me with a look of disbelief.

"How could you be so stupid?" he asked, and I felt my jaw drop. He looked horrendously angry with me, and I waited anxiously for him to tell me what I had done. "Victor Clarke knows you're in Paris. How could you have been so stupid to come here, Eva?"

"How does he know?" I whispered, feeling blood drain from my face.

"I don't know," he spat, "perhaps because you're working for the precious Vicomte de Chagny, and his wife just died! Who, coincidentally was returned to Paris on her death, where her obituary was splashed across every single newspaper in Paris!"

"Is he here?" I asked, swallowing a throbbing ball of fear. I couldn't meet his eyes anymore, out of panic and shame for my own ignorance.

"Of course he's here. Eva...there are a lot of things you don't know...things I couldn't tell you in the letters. Not if I valued my freedom," he said softly. "He knows you have been sending me money...he knows everything. He has always known."

I closed my eyes, praying that I was hearing things. No...Victor could not know. It would have undermined my every effort to keep Rebbecca safe. It would have made my entire flee from him, and into the protective security of the de Chagny household, moot.

"How...why?" I whispered finally, unable to breathe, let alone think, or ask the proper questions.

"When you left, he was merely a physician on staff here," Tomas told me quietly. "Now...he has power. Now...he is on the board of directors for Salpetriere _and_ for Bicetre. It is a government appointment, and he is the most corrupt official in office. I don't know how he found out you were sending me money, but he did notice when I paid a little too much attention to his wife. He's monitored, and dictated every word of every letter that I have sent you-"

"Couldn't you have warned me?" I demanded, reaching out and poking him in the chest sharply. "I've been paying you...all this time-"

"He took the money," he interrupted impatiently. "And yes, I could have warned you, but he threatened to throw me in Bicetre. Any...any person who works here is given an evaluation on their mental health. I wouldn't have been the first man to be transferred to Bicetre because I failed a psychiatric test."

"Where is Rebbecca?" I asked weakly. I longed for the safety of the de Chagny's. Or hell, even of Monsieur Chartraine's elusive fortress. I would have given anything to have been imprisoned in that dark home with Charlotte again, if only to feel secure.

"He has kept her near the river all this time...I'm sorry, Eva. He made me write that," Tomas said softly. "You need to leave before he finds out you're here. He has been planning on you visiting Rebbecca..."

"How would he know?" I whispered nervously. "I didn't tell anyone my name..."

"Did you ask for Rebbecca? Because everyone on staff here has been ordered to alert Dr. Clarke if anyone inquires about his wife," he told me, and I felt a tremor of fear.

"I paid that nurse," I said, glancing around the room in sudden panic. "She won't tell, will she?"

He shrugged. "Money cannot buy you everything, Eva. And I believe he tips better than you ever could. Sorry, dove."

"I-I need to leave," I faltered, and began wrapping the cloak around my head. "I won't come here again. I will find some other way to save my sister."

"You don't understand do you?" he growled, his black eyes flashing at me in annoyance. "You can't save her, Eva. You have to let go, because he isn't going to. If you don't leave here now, without looking back, I would be willing to bet you'll be chained to a wall just like your sister."

He ignored my cry of pain, and I knew he was trying to drum useless sense into my head. Rebbecca was all the family I had left. Why my mother had been so naïve as to give him guardianship over Rebbecca and I, I will never know. But she had died, a few months after Papa had died, leaving Dr. Victor Clarke in charge of us both. Except he had taken a fancy to Rebbecca...and a hatred of me, which was returned with fervor.

He had hated that I could change my sister's mind on something with merely a look. Hated that we were so close, and that nothing he did seemed to break us apart. When he had offered marriage, I had discouraged her every single step of the way, but I had not been prepared for him to possess even a little bit of charm.

And he had charmed himself right up her skirts. She had realized too late what his true intentions had been...to marry her and take her meager inheritance...then when she had given him everything he wanted, he had taken a job at Salpetriere and had her committed. After she had tried to shoot him, of course, but that was when Rebbecca had found out he had made an ill conceived advance on me. If she hadn't shot him, I most certainly would have. His intentions had been to claim my inheritance as well, but as far as I knew he merely controlled it. He believed I was at his mercy, then I had done the unthinkable and defied him in a bold gesture that had shocked him to his black heart.

"I have to do something," I said firmly, or as firmly as I could with shaking hands and a sweating spine. The idea of being kept like an animal was terrifying. The loss of one's independence. Dignity. Self Respect. I had no idea what it felt like, and I never wanted to.

- -

I had passed the admissions desk, avoiding the stare of the nurse I had spoken with earlier by walking past her briskly.

"Evangeline."

My heart and lungs froze, and I continued walking towards the doors. I turned my head and saw him come out of the office behind the nurse's station, and then I broke into a run for the doors. Freedom lay just beyond them...and somewhere outside the gates of Salpetriere, there was my carriage, and my reluctant companion, Madame du Brul.

"Evangeline!" Victor roared behind me, and I flitted away, faster than a deer. I dodged several men, who moved out of my way deftly, perhaps believing I was an escaped mental patient. I certainly felt like it, and I could see the stone arch entryway ahead of me.

"Guard!" he bellowed, and the instant I reached the other side of the gate I felt a man grab my arm.

"Stop, Madame," a male voice barked in my ear. I glanced up to see a beefy faced man, wielding a baton threateningly. The sight of it only made me struggle harder, and I tried to wrench myself from his grasp. "I'm going to hit you, very soundly," he advised me, but I could see Victor coming, a delightedly evil look on his face.

"You have no right to detain me," I hissed at the guard, glancing desperately at Victor. "I am not a patient, now release me!"

"Dr. Clarke," the guard greeted Victor, and I failed miserably to stop a sob of terror that had risen in my throat.

"Evangeline," Victor said my name again, a chilly familiarity to it that was like nails against a blackboard. "How nice to see you."

"Let me go," I hollered at them both, glaring. I turned to see where my carriage was, relieved to see the perplexed Madame du Brul half hanging out of the carriage, and the stunned gardener taking in the scene with his mouth hanging open. Before I could say anything, Victor wrapped his large hand across my mouth and turned me to face him.

"How nice of you to visit your sister, Eva," he said, nodding approvingly when the guard released my arm and stepped back into his post. "Did you get even a peek? No?"

He laughed softly, his fingers digging into my cheeks. I was frozen with fear, with panic, and the look in his watery blue eyes made my stomach shrivel.

"Hmm? No snotty retorts this time, _Eva_? Where is your precious employer now, _Eva_?"

"Bastard," I managed to whisper against his hand, and it merely made him laugh. I was ashamed that I could do no more. I was a coward. I had been for far too long, but at the moment I could do nothing but relive the painful memories, and remember the man who had caused them.

Victor half raised his other hand to me, then I heard the shrillest voice imaginable.

"_Get your hands off of her, right now!"_

Madame du Brul. I had never been so relieved to hear her in my life. Victor glanced around, releasing my mouth to determine who had addressed him. He frowned, and I stepped towards the carriage, and the now closer than I had realized Madame du Brul. Her spine stiff, her face a mere mask of frigidness, she stared at Victor with arctic precision.

"Eva, come here," she commanded me, and I went to her side immediately. She stepped in front of me...protectively...instantly, and I peered from behind her like the coward I was.

Victor mouthed disgusting names at me, taunting me. "I'll give Rebbecca your regards," he said softly. "Next time, plan on a longer...visit."

"Off with you," Madame du Brul ordered him, pointing her finger towards the hospital. "Go on," she continued, when he merely looked at her. "Get off with you, Monsieur. I assure you, you do not want to deal with my employer should Madame Novelli come to harm."

He snorted. "Raoul de Chagny does not frighten me. Eva, do me a favor and ask him about Charlotte's consent form. I would like to know what he thinks of it. Do that for me, Eva. Ask de Chagny-"

"It isn't-" Madame du Brul began, but I tapped her shoulder.

"No," I whispered behind her urgently. "Say nothing more, I beg you."

She glanced at me over her shoulder, then nodded. "Get inside the carriage, Madame."

I obeyed immediately, not looking back to see if Victor had obeyed her. I was trembling...no...shaking by the time Madame du Brul entered the carriage behind me. Wordlessly, she opened the seat lid next to her and withdrew a flask.

"Drink this," she said, her mouth tightening. She drank herself before she handed it to me, and I swallowed a sip, grimacing as the fiery liquid burned me. I met her eyes, unsure quite how to tell her how grateful I was. I wanted to kiss her feet, and am certain I would have if she had not suddenly taken on that faintly bored look she has when she is irritated.

"Madame du Brul..."

"Quiet, please," she instructed, giving me a quick glance. "I will have to tell Monsieur Chartraine about today's events. You understand, Madame Novelli?"

"I do," I whispered, still shaken to the core.

_Rebbecca._

"He most likely will not allow you to leave again, Madame. I can take you somewhere now, if you prefer it, and save you the trouble-"

"No!"

She sighed, merely looking at me with a sincerely unsympathetic look. "I am going to tell you something that will not leave this carriage. If it does, I can claim not to know what you are talking about, but I suppose it won't matter much longer anyway."

"What?" I asked suspiciously.

"Everything you, or I, or Charlotte...even what the gardener and the cook say in that house is not private. Do you understand?"

I nodded, "He listens, doesn't he? I've always thought he might."

Her eyes widened. "You have known, and still said things about him? _Are_ you insane?"

I shrugged, unwilling to delve into the status of my mental health at the current moment. Most likely, Victor would have an opinion on the matter. "If he wants to retort, then he should do so."

"Madame...it isn't merely listening. The walls themselves have eyes. I found a passageway while I was cleaning the kitchen one day...I suspect he knows every single thing that goes on inside that house. There is even a hidden door inside my own bedroom. Yours...probably every room in that house. He built it, Madame. And he doesn't merely listen occasionally. He is there, all the time. I can tell now by the way that little dog acts...always sniffing for a rat-"

"Some rat!" I said, feeling anger replacing my shock and shaken reaction to Victor. "I'll...I'll..."

"Do nothing," she said coolly, sitting back and taking the flask from me. "We'll both be out of jobs. He doesn't like you much, Madame Novelli. It wouldn't take any stretch for him to be convinced to rid himself of you. He doesn't like me either."

"He can see into my room!" I shot back. "Into Charlotte's room!"

I paled, as I wondered how often he had seen me undress. Feeling queasy, I wondered if he watched Madame du Brul, but I could not tolerate that thought. I took the flask away from her and swallowed the rest of it, all at once. She frowned when I handed it back to her empty.

"Cover the mirror up," she advised me.

"The mirror-"

I stopped, remembering how Raoul had said Christine had been stolen through her mirror. I nodded my head, reminding myself that he had not done or said anything inappropriately. He had not wanted me there...perhaps he had not done anything. I should not jump to conclusions. But the thought of him, the Phantom, sitting and watching terrified me. The thought of the Erik I had met, the reserved gentleman from last night doing it was unimaginable. I could not picture him doing such a thing.

I could not imagine him doing any of those other things either. He seemed so eternally polite. So cold and distant. So lonely. I would say nothing, for the moment, but I would cover my mirror up.

And as I recalled with shivered limbs...something Victor had said about Charlotte...something about a consent form, I tried to make my damaged mind focus. To no avail. I could recall nothing about a consent form. I would have to ask Raoul when he visited Charlotte.


	14. An Evening Ride

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

_Erik_

We were trying to find Carlos, the elusive iguana. I had found him already, of course, but Charlotte was sitting very still against my hip, her arms braced around my shoulders as she tried to determine where exactly Carlos was located. I found myself watching her more than I did the lizard, seeing a smattering of freckles across her nose that I found rather endearing.

"What was your other home like, Charlotte?" I asked suddenly, almost surprising myself.

She turned her head quickly, looking at me with wide eyes. I knew she had not mentioned the home she had been forced to leave since the first day she had come here. Once it became apparent that she was not going home, she had settled into an almost trance like acceptance, which I abhorred.

"What do you mean?" she whispered, and I saw sadness in her eyes, and felt it in every word.

"Was it...in the country? Or...the city?"

"It was by the sea," she said softly.

The house by the sea. Perhaps not the same sea...not the same house...but he had given Christine something I never would have thought of. I would have kept her confined, much as I had done Charlotte, and tried to keep her away from anything remotely resembling freedom. The sea represented that. Wild and untamed. Something I could not control. I would not have felt comfortable living near the sea...not with either one of them.

"I miss it," she said, but did not cry. A distant look entered her eyes, and she frowned. She had not given the slightest indication of a tantrum today, and I was grateful. I wasn't certain if I would know how to deal with her.

"I'm sorry, Charlotte."

I meant it. I was sorry her life had been disrupted so thoroughly. Sorry she had been forced to change every single thing about herself, including her name. My words were worth it, because she lay her head against my shoulder and let out a soft sigh. I carried her to the center of the hothouse and sat down on a bench, simply absorbing every emotion that I had never had the chance to feel. The way she rested her head against my shoulder, and the resounding thump of my heart. I could feel her soft curly hair resting against my hand, and knew that I could remember Christine's feeling the same way. Love pounded through me. Possessiveness. Jealousy...the urge to protect her, no matter what.

"When is my other Papa coming?"

I exhaled slowly, releasing anger as quietly and carefully as I could. "How does Saturday sound?" I had not asked de Chagny yet, and was hesitant to merely send a missive. I wanted to know for sure if he was coming or not, so I could prepare Charlotte ahead of time, and change my plans if I needed to.

"What is today?" she demanded, raising her head to look at me.

"Tuesday," I said gravely, knowing that it sounded as if it were the end of the world to her.

"Very well," she merely said, but looked quite sullen. "I don't suppose I can go home with him."

I was saved from answering as I caught sight of the carriage rolling up the drive through the glass walls. Charlotte looked as well, murmuring the name of her governess under her breath, then wiggling from her perch on my legs.

I watched as she shot out the door and tore across the lawn, so eager to see Evangeline that she did not bother waiting for me, or allowing me to carry her as I had done for most of the morning. Irritated did not describe what I felt, and I clenched my hands as I saw her launch herself at her governess the moment her feet hit the ground. I crossed half the lawn, but I kept my distance since I was without the cloak, and stared at them as Evangeline picked her up and held her as I had been doing.

Charlotte was speaking rapidly, then suddenly she pointed at me. The woman holding her turned and looked, shielding her eyes against the sun. She stared at me for several moments then gave a small wave, which I did not return until Charlotte began waving as well. I turned and walked towards the hothouse, veering around it and going through the back door so that I did not have to see either Evangeline nor Madame du Brul at close range. I wasn't quite sure why, but it amused me to continue concealing myself from them both. The only person who had seen me without the cloak was Charlotte, and since Christine had taken the mask the night of Don Juan, I had been reluctant to even show someone that I wore one.

It didn't matter, really. No one would ever get close enough to take it again. I would never trust anyone, except maybe Charlotte, but I still had no intentions of allowing her to take it. Madame Novelli could peer inside the cloak as much as she wanted or dared. She would never see beneath the mask.

- -

There were scratch marks on her face. I could see them, now that she was tucking Charlotte in for the night, and she had come to the mirror briefly and looked at herself for a moment. She had touched them gingerly and winced, although she had done nothing more, then turned to see if Charlotte needed anything else. Madame Novelli's whiskey brown eyes had looked consistently as if she were crying throughout the day, although I had not heard one single sob, nor caught one stray tear. She was being strong for Charlotte, but judging by the early hour that she had put my daughter to bed, she needed to be alone so she could stop fighting the urge to cry.

I had not needed to pull the story from Madame du Brul. She had been waiting with it for me once I returned to the house, and afterwards I had settled into a long day observing the governess with careful consideration. She was definitely in a dilemma where her sister was concerned. I thought long and hard about what I could do to help her...and help myself in the same manner. She needed to know that her sister was safe, and I had money to pay off anyone, if I could find the right person. But buying someone takes just that...the right person. Apparently her guard, whoever he was, did not have enough connections to warrant keeping her sister safe. Or he did not care, and merely worked for the money.

Whatever the case, Madame Novelli herself was in danger of being taken by her brother in law, who I presumed was the bug-eyed man who had accosted her outside the gates of Salpetriere.

She left Charlotte's room, giving my daughter a soft kiss good night, then crossed the hall to her own room. After going up the stairs that bridged over the hallway, I went to her side of the room, knowing immediately that Madame du Brul had told her about the mirrors. Hers was blacked out, or had a blanket draped over it, as did Madame du Brul's, which frankly I was rather grateful for. I had no need to see what that old woman was doing. Hearing her was enough...almost like listening to Madame Giry, who I had never directly observed either while she was in the privacy of her room.

But I could hear Madame Novelli crying. She kept it quiet, and I imagined that she muffled her voice in her pillow so that Charlotte could not hear.

"Dammit," I muttered, and went back up the stairs. Instead of going across the bridge, I entered a door at the top and found myself in my sanctuary on the third floor. There were such doors all around my room. All leading to passageways that went to various parts of the house. If anyone ever found one, it would not take much to find my room. I didn't care. If they were that determined to come up here, then it would mean the gendarmes had found me. Hopefully by then I would have been long gone. If it was anyone else...well...there is an answer for that as well.

Impatiently, I contemplated what I should do. I needed more information from her, but could not simply go to her room and demand that she tell me everything. I felt genuinely sorry for her, and for her sister, and did want to help. But I had ulterior motives that I was not quite ready to share with her.

I stood up quickly, wondering why the idea hadn't occurred to me before. I could use her help, and I needed her to complete part of my promise to Charlotte. Perhaps she could offer her own solution to my problem, involuntarily of course. I changed my masks, smiling wryly as I slipped the black domino on. It had dual purposes tonight...it would hide me from more than just curious amber eyes. It would hide me from blue ones as well.

I found Madame du Brul in the kitchen, watching with interest as the cook began preparing some sort of dessert. I signaled discreetly to her from the dining room, and she obeyed me immediately.

"Monsieur Chartraine," she said, ready to provide me with whatever service I would need.

"I want you to wake Madame Novelli, if she is in fact sleeping. Tell her I need her dressed and downstairs in half an hour. Then tell the gardener I will require the carriage tonight. We're going out. I need you to keep an eye on Charlotte while we are gone. She is already in bed. Make sure she stays there," I said, speaking so quickly she merely began to nod.

"May I tell her the destination?" she asked, before I could possibly begin to launch anything else at her. Her eyes flickered up to mine, one of the few times she had ever been able to see them, and I wondered if she preferred me to leave the cloak on.

"Tell her we are paying a call to de Chagny," I said curtly. "Tell her to hurry up, before I change my mind."

- -

She must have thought I had lost my mind. I saw the way her eyes widened as she came down the stairs, seeing for the first time that I did indeed have two eyes and a mouth, although she could not see my nose beneath the irritating black mask. I don't know why I was so insistent on keeping the rest of my features from her. Perhaps because she was so curious, but I knew that it would keep Raoul from sensing how angry I truly was that he had raised my daughter.

"Monsieur Chartraine?" Evangeline Novelli said my name, as if unsure that I was the person standing near the door.

I nodded marginally, and felt her inspecting every inch of me. I merely waited, allowing her to look all she pleased. She could see nothing, and I delighted in staring at her with unblinking eyes until she became uncomfortable.

"Well...I'm ready," she said softly, "although this is a surprise."

She shook her cloak, which had been laid across her arm and swirled it around her shoulders. She tied it quickly, then preceded me out the door and into the carriage. It was only a few days away from the beginning of November, and it was already cold enough to see one's breath in the air. I sat across from her in the darkness, wondering if I should begin asking questions before or after we saw de Chagny.

"I didn't see her," she finally said, breaking the silence and saving me from making a decision. "You were right...you wanted to hear that, I'm sure...but you were right about the guards. Money cannot buy you everything...perhaps Tomas was right as well."

"He wasn't protecting her?" I asked, wishing I could at least see a fraction of her face in the darkness. The sound of the wheels turning, and the clopping of horse hooves was all I heard for several moments, then she sighed.

"He tried...but Victor knew he was helping me. I didn't tell you this...didn't think about it before...but Victor is, or was, a psychiatrist at the hospital. Now he serves on the board for Salpetriere and Bicetre. He has influence. Control. Everything he wanted...power...money...respect, although I would debate that term. He got everything he sought out to achieve, at the expense of whoever he had to step on to get there."

I said nothing for awhile, wondering if he was one of the doctors who liked to experiment on their patients. I hated those more than I hated torture. More than beatings. More than starving myself, to see if I could fit though the bars of my cell.

"And your sister?"

She laughed harshly, and I could hear her fumbling around on the seat box. The sound of a lid opening, and then the smell of liquor filled the carriage. She sighed heavily as the rot poured down her throat.

"My sister," she repeated. "My sister...perhaps if she had listened to me, she would have her freedom. If she had not married Dr. Clarke. If she had not let him lift her heels. So many things she could have done...but the biggest mistake she made... was aiming for his ballocks."

I could not contain a chuckle, and allowed myself to find humor in her trauma. It was not funny, or should not have been, but the way she said it left no doubt that she found it funny as well. She giggled, and I instantly suspected that she had indulged too much in the whiskey. I kept some inside for cold nights like tonight, both for myself and the gardener. I usually had nowhere in particular that I wanted to go, but sometimes I let him drive me on a route that would take me past the opera house, or along the Seine, or deep into the Bois.

"I think you may have had enough of this," I said, and reached out to take the flask from her. I felt her hand touch mine, which thankfully was gloved.

"You have lovely music," she whispered. "Lovely...and a lovely daughter."

"Thank you," I returned quietly. "Is there anything I can do? About your sister?"

"No...I shall have to figure something out, but I do not need your help. Thank you for offering, Monsieur Chartraine," she said, and very firmly.

I wanted to say more, but it appeared we had arrived at the de Changy residence. It was dark...the entire place seemed too silent, and far too dark. I wondered why I didn't feel nervous. Perhaps because I was in control this time. I had control of Charlotte, and there was nothing he could do about it. I was actually anticipating seeing his face again. I wanted to see him.

I wanted to hear him say it. To know if he was smart enough to figure out what I wanted to hear. That Charlotte was my daughter.


	15. Touché

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

_Eva_

"Do you think he's home?" I whispered, although there was no one around. Erik stood behind me slightly, and I suspected he did not want whoever opened the door to see him immediately.

He muttered beneath his breath, but I could not catch his words. He had surprised me this evening. I had expected him to gloat over my misfortune. To pounce on me once I returned, and tell me I was a stupid female for going around and poking my nose where it didn't belong.

He had said nothing, and seemed genuinely concerned, which also surprised me. I couldn't have been more pleased to see that beneath the cloak, he was simply a man. A man who wore a mask, yes, but there was nothing disgusting in what I could see. Charlotte's father had green eyes. Very nice green eyes, although a little cold and piercing, and very black hair that made him look sinful with the black mask. I wondered if Charlotte had been mistaken when she had traced a finger over half her face. Of course, I had seen him today in the white one, though at a great distance.

"He'd better be home," Erik muttered as I rapped on the door.

At once, a light appeared in the hall, and I heard him behind me breathe a sigh of relief. Obviously because he had already promised Charlotte that Raoul would be there on Saturday. The door opened, revealing the same old butler that had been working in the de Chagny household for probably thirty years.

"May I help-"

He stopped, then his face broke out into a smile that he always had for Charlotte and I. He glanced behind me, obviously looking for her, but only spied Erik.

"Charlotte is not with us tonight, Simon, but we both need to see the Vicomte. Is he in?" I asked softly, since it appeared that my purpose here tonight was to get Erik through the front door.

"Well, yes," he said hesitantly, glancing back at Erik with apprehension. "But he is not receiving guests-"

"This is about Charlotte. This is not a social call," I interrupted. I knew that Raoul would not deny Charlotte anything. I wished suddenly that I had not drank the whiskey either on the ride from Salpetriere, or the ride here. Or the one glass of wine I had drank with dinner. I felt too relaxed. Too mellow, although I was still fighting the urge to cry at times.

He continued to stare at Erik, and I stepped in front of him suddenly, arching my brows at the butler until he finally looked at me. It was more than embarrassing to witness Erik being judged for his appearance in front of me, and I knew it had to be humiliating to him as well. However, when I glanced back at him, he looked bored.

"Simon, please. This concerns Charlotte. I know he will want to see us," I said firmly.

He nodded a moment, then stepped aside. I half expected him to shut the door before Erik made it, but he did allow him inside. Following him, I noticed that the brightness and cheeriness of the house was gone. I had been here in the days following Charlotte's birth, and of course after Christine had died, and it had never seemed so gloomy.

"Where is everyone?" I whispered.

"Monsieur de Chagny sent everyone to Nice. There are only three servants remaining," he replied, then named himself, the chef, and the wet nurse. He showed us to the spacious parlor, and asked that we remain inside before he pulled the pocket doors shut, closing us in together.

"No pitchforks yet," Erik commented. "Perhaps we won't be killed tonight, Madame Novelli."

"Why should there be pitchforks?" I boldly asked, and I saw a brief smile flit across his lips.

"Why, indeed."

"You certainly were in a hurry to see Monsieur de Chagny tonight," I said, fishing for information. He merely nodded his head.

"I would do anything for Charlotte," Erik replied, and I felt my heart soften more towards him.

His behavior tonight had redeemed him in my eyes. He was doing something which seemed so completely unselfish. So sweet, that he would come here and ask Raoul in person to see his daughter on Saturday. And that alone continued to surprise me, because I had suspected a deep rooted rivalry between the men over Christine. I only hoped I wasn't placing myself in the middle of a war zone.

I sat down on the plush sofa, watching Erik as he wandered around the room, touching various things that had belonged to the de Chagny's for hundreds of years. The name was an old one, and I knew that at one time it had carried much respect before peerage was abolished in France. Now the name was still well respected; old. But only the actions of the men in the de Changy family counted now. I knew Raoul had held some sort of military commission, but was unsure just what he had done.

"Have you known Raoul long?" I questioned, and he turned his head towards me, laughing shortly.

"You might say that," he responded, and I saw his mouth tighten. "I wouldn't recommend getting too close to me tonight. The only two times we have met...we were fighting."

"Then why did you come? You could have sent me. I would have been more than happy to ensure he showed up."

"I'm sure you would have," he said, a bit sarcastically.

I bristled instinctively, but did not retort. It would have implied that I was guilty of something, which I was not. Even if I was, it was none of his business. There was, and never had been anything between Raoul and I. There never would be. I secretly despised the way of life that entitled him to so many things. He had inherited his wealth...not that I would not have done the same, but it had always annoyed me before Christine died that they seemed so damned content. I actually thought they were both slightly shallow, Christine more than Raoul, but that could have been because I had been jealous of her for being Charlotte's mother. She had not deserved such a sweet daughter. Especially with no more attention than she gave her.

"If you're planning on fighting with him tonight, I would rather leave now so I can tell Charlotte her plans have been canceled. Raoul won't come on Saturday if he suspects he will be assaulted," I said calmly, and Erik muttered an expletive suggestion beneath his breath that I had never heard addressed to me. I wasn't quite sure what to do, so I laughed. I think the amount of alcohol I had consumed had determined my response, and it seemed to amuse him when I did.

"You have my word, I am unarmed. And I have not planted a facer since I was a boy," he finally said, and I suspected he was secretly wishing he had brought something. "I'm getting too old to fight with children, Madame."

"Too old? Exactly how old are you?" I asked, instantly curious. I was twenty five, and I knew that Christine had been my age. Raoul was a couple of years older than us both.

"Thirty seven," he said, "and I feel every single one of those years."

Younger than I had actually thought. He didn't look any particular age, of course, because I could not see him, but I had for some reason imagined him to be much older. His youth did not earn him any points in favor, because now I felt even uneasier knowing he had been able to see into my room. I had not realized, until Madame du Brul had said anything exactly how many mirrors were in the house. It was filled with them. At least one large mirror in each room, including several in the hallways. Now I knew that he did much more than eavesdrop. He observed, and probably had been with us every single day without us knowing.

"How did she die?" Erik suddenly asked, and I saw that he was looking at a small photograph of Christine and Charlotte that had been sitting on the mantle. It had been taken in Nice, and apparently Raoul had brought it with him to remember her by. I wondered if, and how much Erik had loved her.

"The child," I said solemnly, and he nodded.

"That much I knew."

"She lost too much blood. She had been cautioned against having more, after Charlotte was born," I said softly, and he swung hooded eyes towards mine. I regretted saying it, because now he would have something even more to hate Raoul for. I suspected he would never hate Raoul for it, as much as Raoul hated himself.

"Did having Charlotte hurt her?" he whispered, then glanced back at the picture. His thumb caressed the silver frame, then swept across the glass. I knew it was one of them sitting on a bench beneath a giant olive tree. They were both wearing white dresses, both had their hair styled similarly, and smiling brightly into the camera. It had been taken last year, and the image had been dear to Christine's heart.

"I know it was difficult," I said softly, and wondered if it was appropriate for me to tell him these things about her pregnancy. Obviously he had known her in the biblical sense, but Raoul was her husband. She had conceived a child with Erik, but she had married another man. "She was always very fragile. Some women are not meant to bear children."

I was not weak. I was not fragile...I was cowardly at times, when Victor was anywhere near me, but I had never been anything like Christine. And still I had not been able to have a successful pregnancy. I had been so pleased, so very happy when I had found out, despite the non married status I was with. Nothing had ruined my festive mood...not even Victor. Not even the look of horror on my lover's face when I had told him. I had always known that Zachary would not be a good husband, or a good father. It had not stopped me from doing everything a woman requires to get pregnant, but I had never cared about that.

I was not weak. But perhaps I was not meant to bear children either.

"What about her mental health?" he asked, and began to sound slightly anxious. He cleared his throat, set the picture down, then turned his back on us both.

"I could not say, Monsieur. I only met Christine a few hours before Charlotte was born," I said softly.

"You were there to visit your sister?" He asked, and turned his head towards me.

I shook my head, looking away. I could not say it. I had almost said it last night, and thankfully he had interrupted me.

"Then why...?"

Erik stopped as we both heard voiced outside the doors, and I stood and breathed a sigh of relief. Raoul had saved me, indirectly, yet again. He sounded a little angry on the other side of the doors, and as he opened them I saw that indeed he was. Raoul saw me first, then his eyes immediately began moving around the room until he saw Erik on the opposite side. He swallowed, gripping each door in his hands, meeting Erik's eyes with cold understanding.

"Hello, Vicomte," Erik said, _very_ politely. "I hope we are not intruding."

"Erik."

He seemed unable to say anything else, and I saw a struggle in his eyes. He looked nothing like the robust man I had lived with the last five years. This one looked sallow, and slightly disheveled. He had a beard, which I had never seen on his face, and his hair looked thoroughly disgusting.

"Charlotte," Raoul finally managed to whisper, looking at me, then back at Erik. "Is she alright? Nothing...nothing has happened?"

"No," Erik said quietly. "Charlotte is fine."

Raoul looked at me, and I nodded my head. She was fine. Or she would be, once she saw Raoul. She was happier, though, than she had been in the last month. She had smiled more today, and laughed more today than any other day. And I had been in no condition to appreciate it. Damn Victor.

Raoul swallowed again, and I wondered if he was trying to eat his tongue. He stumbled more into the room, and as he moved towards me I could smell his breath. He had clearly been drinking much more than I had.

"Eva," he said, and tried to embrace me. I backed away immediately, truly not wanting to give Erik cause to believe I would consider sleeping with an employer, making Raoul lose his balance and almost lurch at me. Instead of allowing him to hit the floor, I shoved him sideways onto the couch, and Erik chuckled behind me. Raoul muttered an apology, and tipped his head backwards on the chair. I could practically see his head swimming in alcohol.

"Monsieur, are you alright?" I asked, concerned he was about to lose his dinner, if in fact he had eaten any.

"No, not really," he whispered in a weak voice.

"Should we come back at another time?"

I heard Erik scoff behind me, and I turned and glared at him. He appeared amused by the entire scenario, and I wondered how he would feel if his wife had died, and he had lost his daughter. My feelings of gratitude and respect for him were rapidly diminishing.

"No," Raoul said, and finally sat up to look at us both. "No...I want to know why you're here."

I turned towards Erik, and he sighed, as if he really did not care to give a reason for his visit, just merely wanted to pester the man. He came closer, and finally sat down in front of Raoul, challenge written into every angle of his body. I thought right then he would have gladly encouraged Raoul to attack him, so he could punish him for ever living. Ever breathing. Ever loving and marrying Christine.

"How long did you know about her?" Erik asked, and I moved backwards instinctively, not wanting to get between them if they were about to begin fighting. What a way to open a conversation with your rival, if you were not looking to start a fight.

"About Charlotte?" Raoul asked, looking incredibly tired.

"How long did you know about her?" Erik repeated, persistently. I could practically see the joy in his expression, although it was well hidden beneath the mask.

"That Charlotte was your daughter?"

Satisfaction raced through Erik's eyes, and he sat back suddenly, nodding his head slowly. I expected he didn't care about the answer half as much as he wanted to hear the question Raoul had asked him.

"I learned of it on my wedding day," Raoul replied, and I possibly felt as shocked as Erik looked. I don't think the answer was what he expected, and I knew it was certainly something he did not like. I could not believe Christine would have been so cruel as to tell Raoul that on his wedding day. It couldn't have been a happy anniversary each year, with that clouding over his head, but they had celebrated in August of every year. Charlotte's birthday was in February. Which meant sometime in June of 1870, Erik had either been quite persuasive, or Christine had not made up her mind about Raoul. Or something else entirely, but I suspected I would never know.

"She is my daughter," Erik said quietly.

"Yes. But she was mine first," Raoul returned, although I thought him very brave to say it. I had always thought Raoul was a very handsome man. That Christine was lucky to have him, even if he was a bit too much of a gentleman. Compared to the dark and very dangerous looking man sitting across from him, I didn't think he stood much of a chance.

"Touché," Erik whispered softly, and Raoul's face turned livid with anger.

I took another step back.


	16. Enemy Thy Own

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

_Erik_

Nothing I could have said would have made him angrier. I could have called him a coward, or his mother a whore, and I suspect he would not have batted so much as one eye at me. But to insinuate, which was true obviously, that I had taken Christine's virginity? Well, I did not need a psychiatrist to tell me that Raoul had a temper in that department.

"You son of a bitch," he whispered, and he gripped the arms of his chair. "I should gut you now, and save Charlotte the pain of having a man like you for a father."

I tsked at him. "I invite you to try. It didn't work out well for you last time, did it?"

"Christine is not here. To save either one of us," he said, clenching his teeth and narrowing his eyes at me. "I hate you, Erik. God, you have no idea how much I hate you."

His words did not necessarily surprise me. "I can't admit to liking you either, but in any case I don't care what you think or feel about me. Still, I didn't come here to fight with you," I said, glancing at Evangeline. If she backed up any more, she'd be completely out of the room.

"Then why?" he demanded, raising his voice unnecessarily. I had the feeling in a moment he would be shouting at me, and wondered how far Evangeline would run from the house. I shifted in my chair, wishing I had thought to bring something to shoot him with.

"Charlotte needs to see you," I said simply. "She...needs to know that you aren't dead, and I will permit her to see you. Perhaps only once...perhaps not for very long...but I will permit it."

"Lotte," he whispered, and I saw him blink back tears, confirming what I had feared. He loved her, just like he had loved Christine. "Where is she?"

"At my home."

"My men tried to find it," he mumbled. "They swore they could recall where the entrance was located."

I chuckled softly. "It is fortunate that their memories failed them." Actually, fortunate that I had changed the entrance the moment they had left, and buried the old one. It changed at least every three months, unless someone actually happened to come up the path I was currently using. I also covered up the entrance each time the carriage returned from somewhere, piling leaves and other debris in the way. A fence surrounded much of the property, and there were movable gates located throughout.

"I hate you," he said again.

I shrugged. "Hate me all you like. Charlotte is mine. If you want to see my daughter, you will dance on my strings."

"When may I see her?" he whispered, and I knew that he would not beg. I might like to taunt him, and make suggestive remarks about my influence over him, but he would not beg to see Charlotte. If it came down to obeying me, he would forfeit all rights to see her.

"Saturday. At one, I think," I said quietly. "I _will not_ be feeding you. This is not a lunch date, so I suggest you eat before you arrive."

"You will allow me into your home?" he asked, clearly surprised. "Aren't you afraid-"

"I am not afraid of anything!" I barked at him. "Bring them, damn you, if you want that still! If you must have your revenge! But do not do it in front of my daughter! And if you do, de Chagny," I said, lowering my voice into a sinister whisper, "you can be certain I will escape. And when I do...well..."

I raised my shoulder slightly, eyeing him with contempt. Raoul sank back in his chair once he was certain my outburst had not caused me to try and throttle him. I had forgotten that Evangeline was in the room, and she moved into my line of vision behind Raoul. She met my eyes for a moment, looking clearly nervous and upset, but she turned away immediately.

"I have no need for revenge," Raoul finally said, and I met his eyes. "And if you want the truth, Christine took yours for you, on me. When she gave you Charlotte. So we should be even now. I had no idea how much she hated me...had to have hated me...," he whispered, and stared down at his hands. "You got what you wanted, I suppose. So did I."

"I didn't want it like this," I muttered, and I saw him flinch. I had not intended to make him feel guilty for Christine's death. I had known at the funeral that I could not be angry with him for that, nor to the little one. But I had not wanted Christine to ever end up with him. I would have given anything for Charlotte to still have her mother. "How...how is the child?" I asked, stifling all my annoyance with him and forcing a kind tone.

"I wouldn't know. I can't bear to look...," he said quietly, then ran a hand through his greasy hair. "He seems content. Doesn't cry much, not that I could hear him."

"Charlotte would like to see him as well," I said softly.

He merely nodded, and I suspected he could not deny her anything either. I didn't like knowing that they had done the same things I had done with her. Talked, laughed, though not much. He had held her, probably tucked her in every night. I frowned, realizing I had never done so. I would have to correct that.

"What have you named him?" Evangeline asked, and I heard the slightly breathless wonder that women get when they talk about newborns.

But her answer affected Raoul in a most peculiar way, and he did something in front of me I never would have expected. He began to cry.

- -

Evangeline was horrified as she stared at him. She glanced at me helplessly, and I shrugged. The man had been through quite a bit in the last month. He had lost his wife, lost what he considered a daughter, and possibly worst of all,_ I_ was sitting in his parlor. I could not blame him for crying. I had done quite a bit of it myself over the years, and the last five had all been over Christine. The fact that her death had hit him hard neither surprised nor bothered me. I had loved her too, but distance had put a damper on my emotions, whereas he had loved her right up until her last breath. He had been with her, I'm certain, when she had died.

And I had gained something in her loss, which had healed me, though not quite completely. I had Charlotte. And he did not, although that was not what made it special. Christine had given her to me. Without consulting him. Without his consent, or approval, she had acknowledged what we had done together and exercised her right as a mother to claim me as the father. She had finally given me something, if not her heart.

"I'm sorry," Raoul mumbled, wiping at his tears in impatient, angry sweeps. "God, I'm sorry. Erik...I'm so sorry."

I froze. Was he apologizing to me? He continued to weep, and when he finally raised his head to look at me, I shuddered in embarrassment.

"I killed her," he whispered, guilt written into every nuance of his face. Shame blazing in his eyes, and tears covering his wounded expression. "I killed her."

"Stop," I said, nearly shouting at him. "I do_ not_ want to feel pity for you. Stop..._stop_!"

I stood up and moved far enough away from him that I could no longer hear his wretched sobbing. He continued to cry, and when I glanced over Evangeline had moved behind him closer and was awkwardly patting his shoulder. Her actions irritated me. Raoul would always get the beautiful woman. The woman to console him, the woman to love him. He thought the disaster of losing his wife would tear him apart. Then he should have tried living and loving a woman with only half a face! Evangeline glanced at me, and I knew she felt perfectly awful for prying about the infant. I studied her compassionate face, realizing she really was quite beautiful. Her long dark russet hair, and eyes like amber stones, or aged whiskey. She had a nicely shaped face, with pale flawless skin. And she was built quite nicely too. Not like Christine. Not dainty, not delicate. She was slender, but strong, and was (not that I looked that often) nicely proportionate throughout the...chest...region. Her lips, not that I had ever considered what they might feel or taste like, were naturally pink and her bottom lip was fuller than the top. Not that I had really looked, of course. It would do me no good to look. Besides the fact that she was leaving soon, I knew she would never touch me. Not even the comforting way she was touching de Chagny.

"Stop your bawling," I spat, irritated that he had somehow managed to shift the focus of the evening solely on himself. And that I had felt the stirrings of lust and envy. And worse, I felt very sorry for him. Evangeline glared at me, and murmured something soothing in his ear, and I glared right back at her. "You work for me now," I said pointedly.

"It doesn't make you less of an ass," she shot back, and now proceeded to rub his back as he hiccuped softly. Rather like a baby, I thought.

"I didn't...I couldn't," Raoul sputtered. "I haven't named him yet," he finally managed to say. "I can't even think of anything...I wish Christine had chosen a name for him...because I can't."

A nameless infant, I thought with sarcasm. I had not been called anything other than 'boy' until I had been around Charlotte's age or a little older. Then the nuns at the orphanage had finally conspired to name me _something_ once I had went into their care. They had feared me...and I had gotten into far too many fights for them to attempt to tame the savage little boy that had wandered too far from the only person who ever cared for him. I had never thought of that nameless man, who had taken a nameless boy under his wing. Sometimes I wondered if I had successfully become crazier than he was, although I recently had my doubts.

I offered none of my thoughts to the couple who were now nearly embracing. Evangeline still stood behind him, leaning over the back of the chair to put her arms around him, rubbing his back with ease. She held her face away from his, and I wondered if it was because he stank, quite badly. I had gotten a good whiff earlier, and it had not endeared him to me.

"For God's sakes, take a bath before you show up on Saturday," I growled at him. He became embarrassed, and shrugged out of Evangeline's touch, which had been my plan.

Raoul continued to wipe his eyes for a few moments, drawing in several deep breaths to control his raging emotions. I wandered around the room, unable to resist walking by Evangeline and giving her a wicked smile. She frowned at me, and discretely wiped her hands against her skirt. He must have been quite dirty, for her hands to have been soiled.

"I will be there," Raoul finally managed to say. "How will I know where to look?"

"The entrance will be noticeable," I said quietly. "And none of that in front of her. Her name is Mademoiselle Chartraine..."

He paled, and stared down at his hands.

"...and you will address her as such. And if you could name the child before then, I think it would not be so confusing to her. Just pick something. Why not Christine's father's name? Or yours? It isn't so very difficult."

I waited several moments, but he said nothing more. I glanced at Evangeline, but she was fiddling with her hands again, wiping them against her dress.

"That is all, de Chagny. I will see you on Saturday."

I had not decided before if I would be present, but now that I knew I could be in the same room without killing him, I did want to have him see me with my daughter. I could not resist driving that final stake into his heart. No matter what I wanted, I not help but feel vindictive.

I moved towards the door, but Evangeline held out her hand, indicating that she wanted to say something to him. I stopped and stared at her until she summoned the courage to say what it was she wanted.

"Monsieur de Chagny...I have a question for you. Concerning Charlotte," she whispered, and looked ill at ease. "I was visiting Salpetriere today, and I...ran into my brother in law."

Raoul turned around and looked at her, "Yes?"

"When Christine was in the hospital...did she sign any consent forms?"


	17. A Slightly Grand Tour

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

_Eva_

Erik inhaled sharply, and I knew immediately he was angry that I had not discussed it with him first. I had considered it, but decided he needed nothing else to worry about, and I could wait until we were ready to leave before I asked Raoul. Not that I would have had a chance anyway, the way they had sniped at each other.

"What consent form?" Erik demanded, and he reached out and grasped my arm, squeezing almost painfully. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"Victor...," I whispered, looking to Raoul for help. This close to Erik and I could see just how green his eyes were, and the shape of his lips, the evenness of his teeth. He smelled far better than Raoul had, a woodsy mixture that faintly resembled cedar. I wondered if he acquired it from his secret passageways, or if it was all his own.

"Evangeline," he said my name commandingly, and I looked up at him with trembling lips.

"I'm sorry," I said softly. "He...he told me I should ask him," I pointed at Raoul, "about a consent form."

"Did he threaten my daughter?" he asked tightly, his eyes filling with alarm.

"I don't know," I said timidly, swaying slightly at the thought of Charlotte coming to any harm. "I don't know...he just said to ask..."

"de Chagny?" Erik growled, still holding onto my arm. Tighter, I thought.

Raoul frowned, looking quite confused. He knew nothing about Victor. Christine had. She had known everything, and arranged and insisted on me going with them, taking Raoul aside and telling him she had wanted me and no one else for Charlotte. I would always be grateful to her for that...but somehow I had fallen more in love with her daughter more than I would ever like her.

"Well, she did sign something before Charlotte was born. Some sort of document that would give the doctors permission to evaluate Charlotte when she came of age. All women who are admitted to the hospital sign something similarly, we were told, and considering who-"

He glanced at Erik pointedly, and I knew they had done it because Christine herself had been troubled, and combined with Erik being the father, well, Charlotte could have come out with serious mental problems.

"Do you think I'm crazy?" Erik asked, and flashed a quicksilver smile. "You haven't seen the truly demented. You may think so...but I'm not even close."

"What age?" I asked softly, and tried to pull my arm free from Erik's grasp. He studied me a moment, held on one second longer than necessary, but released me when I began to scowl.

"Well, I don't think it is just one session, but they were supposed to have begun when Charlotte turned five. Nothing intrusive, we were assured-"

"They are not examining my daughter!" Erik bellowed, and I stepped further away from him. It seemed he was determined to plant his fist somewhere tonight, and I didn't know him well enough to know if he would aim it at me. "Do you hear me? They are not touching her. She is not setting one foot away from my home. How could you make a decision like that? Without ever meeting her? How could you do that?"

"Christine wanted it," Raoul said softly. "She made all of the decisions regarding Charlotte."

It was true, I realized. I had always thought Raoul was weak because he never stood up to Christine where Charlotte was concerned. Maybe he felt that he couldn't because he was not her father. Maybe he had always known someday Erik would claim her, and merely been content to love her.

"I will not allow it. I swear to you, if anyone comes looking for her, and you tell them I will take you back to the lake and drown you, do you understand? I will leave your body there to rot."

I assumed he was referring to the rumored lake beneath the opera house, but I said nothing, and Raoul did not reply. Erik glared at us both, breathing heavily, and I wished I would not have to ride home with his explosive temper. He was angrier now than he had been earlier, and I could see no sign of his temper leaving.

"Did you sign anything, Eva?" Raoul asked me, and I could see he regretted it immediately. "I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have brought that up. Forgive me, please."

I felt Erik's eyes on me, and knew he was piecing clues together. I wasn't sure what he knew, if anything about me. I did not want to have a conversation about how I came to be in the de Chagny household. Most certainly not.

"Did you sign anything?" Erik asked me, and I shook my head quickly. "Why not?"

"First, it was voluntary," I whispered softly, licking my dry lips. "Second, I was not admitted with psychiatric problems. I was merely...merely..."

I stopped, glancing at Erik and thankfully he only nodded. He did not say it, and I could not bring myself to. Victor most certainly had tried, but since he was not my doctor he could not force anything. And I had been fortunate to have a kind medical doctor, who had obeyed my wish to be left alone while I prepared for the arrival of my child. I had been devastated to lose it, in more ways than one.

"They won't know where to find Charlotte," Erik said quietly, and I knew he was saying it for my benefit. I stared at him, seeing his strength and determination, and knew he could do anything. Even keep his daughter away from the world if it meant protecting her forever. "I won't ever allow it."

Our roles reversed, and he was helping me cope with something about Charlotte, rather than I with him. I knew they had a good day together, although Charlotte had not told me everything. She had smiled and said she had a secret, her eyes lighting up more than I had ever seen before.

"Thank you," I whispered.

No one seemed to find it odd that I was only the governess.

- -

After we arrived back at Erik's, I would have gone straight to bed, but he stopped me as I climbed the stairs.

"Madame-"

"You may call me Eva," I said softly, looking at him with renewed respect. He had done well tonight, even if he had been a little too abrasive with Raoul when he had been filled with grief. I wanted to get to know him more. He seemed like such a complex man, and knowing him could lead to me being able to say the right things to him and get to leave the house more often.

"Evangeline," he said, meeting me halfway. No one called me that but my mother, and Victor when he was angry, but thinking about Erik calling me by my shortened name did seem too familiar for him. Not for Raoul, but for Erik, yes. "Would you like to see more of the house?"

He surprised me, and I nodded slightly. He even offered his arm, and led me to several rooms downstairs that before had remained locked. I could see nothing special about them, really, and it consisted of two more parlors, a study that looked as if it had never been used, and another larger library. I left his arm inside the library and swept around the circular room, eagerly looking over the books like a greedy child.

"I am running out of things to teach her," I confessed sheepishly. "The guest library is literary fiction, but this...," I picked up an encyclopedia, and a large atlas. I absently spun a globe of the world that was larger than any I had ever seen, "...this is magnificent. I don't have my own books...I came to the de Chagny's with nothing, and I left with nothing."

"You may use this library," he said softly, and I gave him a mollified smile. He leaned against the door and merely watched as I ran my finger across the spine of his books. He must have read several of them, several times, and I could tell by the way some of them were worn which ones he liked.

"_A History of Paris_. _The Byzantium Empire_. _Where all Roads Lead_...," I glanced at him, and he was smiling slightly. "..._The_...," I stopped and blushed, "..._Agony of Romance_...?"

I didn't look at him as he cleared his throat, and merely continued down the line, finding that book certainly the most interesting out of them all. There were books on human anatomy, and oddly quite a few on the history of psychiatry, a stack of papers that had the name Pinel across them, looking old and faded. I lifted one, and he nodded.

"The former chief physician at Salpetriere, and superintendent at Bicetre," he confirmed, and I set it back down without reading it. "A much more compassionate man, I was told, than any other that have held the position."

"Your interest in subjects seems to be very wide," I commented, and completed the walk of the circular shaped room. It was situated at the corner of the house, in one of the towers that was visible from outside, and looking up I could see that it reached the second floor. There was a balcony at the top, and what looked like a door leading from the second floor. The ceiling was painted a beautiful robin's egg blue, with white cornice work surrounding a large chandelier in the center. "And I think this is the most beautiful room in the house, so far."

"Thank you," he replied, tracing a hand over the dark raised panel door. "It happens to be my favorite."

Not the music room? I thought. In the morning it would be beautiful with the overstory arched windows surrounding one side of the tower. Yes, I could easily see this as his favorite. Charlotte would love it as well.

"Shall we?" he murmured, and offered me his arm again. He led me to the staircase that wrapped around the tower, and I peered over the side looking at the room from the dizzying height. I moved closer to him as I felt slightly dizzy, and he gave me a grim smile. Once we reached the top, and he unlocked I stumbled through it.

"I don't think I want to do that again," I gasped, looking back through the door. "No...I will take the main stairs next time."

He chuckled slightly and relocked the door. I realized we were in a part of the house I had never been before. A wide hallway, with three doors was where we had ended up, and there was nothing more.

"I built this house," he explained. "I've been building things all my life. You won't find it an easy one to navigate. I put more effort into this one than most."

"Where are the stairs to the third floor?" I demanded, and my irritated tone made him chuckle again.

"I don't suspect you will ever know the answer to that," he replied, and led me to the center door. When we walked through it, I realized we were out in the hall near Charlotte's room. I turned around, and there was not even a hint of one door behind us, let alone three. And the hall was much narrower. I wondered if the other two doors led into my room and into Charlotte's room.

"How...?"

"Don't strain your mind about it," he suggested. "Just accept it."

His eyes were filled with mirth, and I knew he delighted in showing the brainless governess around, tricking me with his maze of a house, and illusions. There was nothing more aggravating than a man who thought you were incapable of a rational thought. I huffed, and he laughed more.

He led me forward, and opened Charlotte's door. We both peered in at her, fast asleep with all her animals piled on her bed. I was glad winter was coming on, and we would have time to deal with the problem of fleas before they became irritating and a nuisance. Gertrude bounded off the bed, and went straight to Erik, sniffing at his feet and looking up at him in silent demand.

"Charlotte says you've been feeding her," I whispered, my tone slightly scolding. "She doesn't need to gain anymore weight...I can barely lift her as it is."

Erik lifted the dog, petting her absently, but his gaze was on Charlotte. He appeared solemn, and younger, his eyes looking troubled.

"They won't get near her," he vowed again, and I thought for a moment he had forgotten I was there. Until he turned to look at me, his light green eyes looking nearly gray, and not any less dangerous. How had I never felt that burning gaze before? Even beneath the cloak, it would have penetrated me. I had not been this close to man...alone...other than Raoul and Victor...since Zachary, and found it highly unnerving. Our forearms were touching as we had both leaned in to see Charlotte, and the added bundle of excited dog in his arms caused them to rub against one another. Even through his heavy coat, and my dress, I could feel his heat. Or perhaps it was my own, burning me from the inside out. I knew that I had no idea what I was doing, as I wondered what he looked like beneath the mask. Without his clothes. Not necessarily in that order. There was more to him than a mask, and I could see how fiercely protective and loyal he was. And how much he would demand of the same. No doubt Christine had been unable to give him that sort of commitment, and I wondered how he had ever believed she could.

I knew I couldn't, which was why I stepped out of the doorway and broke our bodies apart. Erik glanced down at his arm, then mine, then at my chest. I blushed, and murmured something, though I wasn't sure what. His eyes on my breasts caused them to tighten, and for my stomach to feel as if a thousand barn swallows had lighted inside. Further disconcerted, I crossed my arms over them.

He finally looked at me, but I rather perceived his eyes to still be lower than mine. On my lips, I thought, before I finally said goodnight and left him there with the dog.


	18. The Ease of Eavesdropping

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

_Erik_

I woke with the dog on my chest. Gertrude, in all her dachshund glory, stared at me with soulful and pleading brown eyes. She licked my unmasked cheek, and I smiled and rolled to my side, allowing her to bathe me in noxious canine saliva. I had been around dogs quite a bit when I was younger, wandering the streets of Paris with a homeless crazy old man, and he had tended to quite a few of them. He even stole food, and gave it to his dogs. And cats. And any other pathetic creature he happened to come across...like me.

"This is an exception to my rule," I warned the dog, and she whined slightly. Hoping that was not an indication of her need to relieve herself, I jumped out of bed and dressed, carrying the smuggled dog down to the first floor and releasing her out a side door.

I wasn't sure why I had taken Charlotte's dog. Maybe because I had not felt like sleeping alone last night, although I had never done anything else. Maybe because I felt as if holding something warm would be better than nothing, and the offensive odor of the dog was better than remembering Evangeline's perfume. I also wasn't sure why I had shown her the library. The other rooms had been merely something I had thrown in, but my intentions had always been for the library. Having her walk beside me, as I struggled not to pay attention to her arm over mine, to her hand clutching my inner elbow as we went up the stairs had been nearly impossible.

Why had I not let her simply go upstairs and to bed after we returned from de Chagny's?

Because I was a fool. Simply, quite simply a fool. I wanted information from her, I tried to tell myself. Information about her sister, and nothing more. I wanted a way to rid myself of her. To have my daughter all to myself. Of course, I also wanted her to touch me as she had touched Raoul. No one had ever offered me comfort. Not for anything. Not for Christine. Not for my time in Bicetre, or the subsequent stint in the traveling fair. I could not cry in front of her, but having her touch my arm had nearly made me do so. I had held off, telling myself that if I broke down, I was more foolish than Raoul.

I had to find some way to get her sister out of Salpetriere, and I was almost certain I was not going to enjoy it. Finding someone to pay off would be too difficult.

But I knew the tunnels of Paris better than anyone. I knew every single one. I knew where the seven entrances that led to Salpetriere were located...and also the ones for Bicetre. Walking around Paris, mostly underground, had become habit for me. I had been born (at least I think so) in Paris, and when I returned from Persia I vowed to never leave again. I knew the tunnels below ground just as much as I did the streets. An old man had showed me, once upon a time, just how easy it is to maneuver around the city, and never be seen.

Luckily, I live on the same side of the river as both of the hospitals, with the opera house across the Seine. I had wanted to get far enough away from the opera that I would not have to pass by it unless I chose to. It had been three years after the fire before I had the courage, although I have never gone inside, and never will.

In the coming days, I would reacquaint myself with those entrances to Salpetriere. I would find out just how easy it was to enter the yellow walls of that hospital, and see what I could find, if anything about Rebbecca Clarke, and Victor Clarke.

- -

I decided not to continue treating my daughter like a looking glass, and met her and a very surprised Evangeline at the breakfast table. If Madame du Brul had swallowed one more time, I was certain her head would fall into her neck, then I would have to hire a new housekeeper.

"Can we go look for Carlos again?" Charlotte asked me, smiling over her plate of crepes.

"If you like, we can do so this evening," I replied softly, glancing at Evangeline. She was avoiding my eyes, and I knew she had caught me staring at her chest last night. Not that I felt any shame in looking, and her reaction was not unusual, but I was slightly embarrassed to face her this morning.

I continued to wear the black mask, deciding it was better to hide myself completely than make Evangeline wonder what the other half looked like. Christine had wanted to know...so very badly...that she had taken the mask. I wonder if both sides had looked so horrible, what she would have done. Perhaps I should have always worn the black mask. Perhaps if people thought the worst, then if they saw what was actually beneath they would not be so disgusted.

"Mama didn't like him," Charlotte said suddenly, then glanced around the table. She must have thought that mentioning Christine at the breakfast table was wrong, because she sat back in her chair.

I reached out and touched her arm. "It's alright. You can talk about her, Charlotte."

"My other...my Raoul...he didn't like it when I...," she whispered, looking at Evangeline.

"You may say her name in my home anytime you like," I said, giving her an encouraging smile. I would endure a million nightmares about Christine before I let my daughter feel uncomfortable mentioning the mother who loved her.

"What if I forgot?" she asked softly.

"Forgot what?"

"What she looks like," Charlotte said, lifting her eyes to mine. I touched her cheek, and pulled slightly on her cinnamon curl.

My heart broke for her, and I heard Evangeline suck in a deep breath. One of pain, and longing, and I knew if I had not been there she would have swept the girl into her lap as she did every time Charlotte cried, or said anything about Christine at all. For once, I would get to comfort her, and it brought me immense satisfaction to do so.

"You need only to look in a mirror," I replied. "But if it helps, you may have this."

I pulled out the small picture I had stolen from the de Chagny's. One I had intended to keep, but I knew my daughter needed it more than I ever would. Charlotte's eyes widened, and she beamed as she stared at the picture, touching the edges reverently.

"Where did you...?" Evangeline began, then stopped talking when I glanced at her. She muttered something beneath her breath, that sounded a lot like 'thief', and I smiled at her.

"Why yes, I am," I said, and glanced around my home as if to say, 'this is what being a thief can bring you: untold wealth'.

I did enjoy shocking her, and she only appeared slightly amused by my confession.

"Did Evangeline tell you where we went last night?" I asked Charlotte, who shook her head quickly. "Well...we went to see Monsieur de Chagny. He's agreed to come visit you on Saturday."

"Really?" she squealed, and looked at Evangeline.

"Really," Evangeline said dryly.

"Is he...is he okay?" Charlotte asked, looking to Evangeline for answers now, which annoyed me.

"He's fine," I muttered, ignoring the governess when she raised her eyebrow at me. "He's perfect."

I left it at that, not saying he was too damn perfect to be real. Too perfect to be anything, other than perfectly annoying. But of course, I had never seen him like he was last night. Never seen anyone like that, other than myself, and the thought was not comforting.

- -

They left me and went to the makeshift schoolroom, and I wandered around the house for awhile, traveling through the main part, which I seldom did during the daylight hours. The dog trailed after me, and while I thought about going to observe Charlotte and Evangeline, I refrained, deciding too much of my time was becoming absorbed in spying on them. I needed to work on a novel, or music, or something, just to release some of the tension that was building in my mind. It had been a long time since I had plotted anything, and usually music helped me to relieve that pressure.

But I felt too distracted to write, and too nervous to play. I needed to get away from the estate, and begin walking tunnels, but it had been a long time since I had done so. I was not eager to travel back to the underground world of Paris. It was dark, and damp, and smelled awful, but for a long time it had been my only existence. I had been raised in those tunnels. I had slept in abandoned or redirected sewer lines, and bathed in drainpipes as a child, hiding from sunlight, and people, and anyone else who might think me odd and harm me. Nothing had prepared me for the reality of the world. Nothing had warned me that I would be abruptly taken away from the crazy old man who had taken me in, and placed in an orphanage.

I had barely been able to speak, and could not write even the first word when I arrived at the orphanage, taken there by a stunned gendarme, who had simply stared at me in horror as he pushed me along the streets, almost unwilling to touch me, but not willing to let me return to the tunnel he had found me in. He had left me in the care of the nuns, and I had never seen him nor the old man again. For some reason, perhaps because I had not really thought of it, I had never left. I had never wanted to, until they had taken in more young boys, and I had to constantly defend myself against street children, who knew how to fight, and liked to fight dirty. I had been about twelve when the nuns had washed their hands of me, and taken me to Bicetre. By that time I was capable of doing much more with my hands than writing, and poring over books. I had not killed any of those boys, but I had made them very happy when I stopped beating them.

If I had only known then, what a beating really was.

I rubbed my wrists absently, recalling what it felt like to be restrained, then beaten unconscious. To receive various drugs, then watched from a small window as my body reacted helplessly in whatever way it could. To have my face probed, but thankfully never cut, until I had loathed everything and everyone in that damned_ hospital._

I sighed, and changed my clothes again, dressing in faded trousers, and a warm sweater, bundling up against the cold that I knew would seep into my bones. I couldn't quit putting this off. Evangeline could very well end up with worse than scratch marks on her face, and I couldn't stand the thought of her sister being there, probably surrounded by water. Of course, there were going to be a lot of women there like that. I wasn't sure if I would have the courage to free only one.

Somehow, if I wished to make it out of Salpetriere, I would have to.

- -

Seven entrances to Salpetriere. Seven, and I remembered every one without any problems. The water was low right now. It had been a dry summer, although with the onset of November, I expected rains to begin soon enough. It would be freezing, not that it wasn't close already, in a matter of weeks, so I knew I would have to act fast.

Three of the entrances were viable, and the others would take me to parts of the hospital I would not need. Unless I wished to stride into Victor's office and snap his neck, which was an appealing idea. The little worm had threatened Charlotte, and I found myself moving further beneath the hospital, able to hear conversations in some parts of the open courtyards. I listened intently for thirty minutes to a man trying to talk his way out of his mistress leaving him, and another twenty to her calling him a poor lover.

Moving on, I could hear groans of the infirm, women pleading for help, and knew I was outside the walls of one of the worst places in the hospital. I would have to go above ground to gain access to Rebbecca's room, provided I could find her. Slipping back underground would be easy, and I thought that the shower areas must run directly through to the tunnels. Thankfully I would not have to be exposed in the open under the sky, and with gas lights from the hospital grounds, although I could take care of that as well if I needed to. And there were legitimate tunnels used by the hospital, used by guards and hospital personnel to transport the most vicious inmates, and to probably slip away for liasons with nurses, or...other guards. Sometimes patients, and with this being a women's hospital, I knew that most of those probably occured in the dark, in their rooms, and they were probably subdued.

Still, there were many things I could do. Many ways to break in, and it was appallingly easy to do so. I decided to come back a few more times, and see what I could hear, if anything about Rebbecca Clarke.


	19. The Agony of Romance

Disclaimer: Not mine.

We didn't see Erik again all morning, and Charlotte worried herself, and nearly me to death, asking where he was. If he was hiding in the walls, listening to his daughter begging for him to come to her, I was going to let him know exactly what I thought of that, whether Madame du Brul cared or not. I sat outside with her after her lessons and let her sketch under one of the many ancient trees that surrounded the estate. The forest beyond I still found frightening. It looked so dark inside...so evil, but I confess to never being one to love nature. Not uncivilized nature anyway. Being lost in the wilderness had always been a nightmare of mine, and anything remotely resembling countryside I usually found distasteful. I was a city girl, born and bred.

The part of the estate, contained within the hedge that he allowed us to enjoy was beautiful. Roses were everywhere, and Charlotte would love them more when spring came, and she could see their heavy blooms amid other flowers. They had been Christine's favorite flower as well...and Raoul had told me why. He had told me quite a bit about Erik. Some of it now I'm sure he was mistaken about. There didn't seem to be a selfish streak in him, nor any sign of cruelty, although he had enjoyed tormenting Raoul just for spite. He was generous with Charlotte, and the rest of us he treated with high guards in place, as if we could betray him at any time. Likely, he expected us to.

Erik had not treated me with any discourtesy, or not much anyway, since we had talked the night in the music room. He seemed to want something from me, though I wasn't really sure what. I thought at times it was my trust, but that certainly didn't make any sense. I was the governess. Why would he want me to trust him? His manner outside of Charlotte's room had not been lewd...heated, yes...but I had not felt in the slightest bit offended. I had been fortunate enough never to have the problem that many women have with men. I had been sheltered for most of my life, until my parents had died and Victor had taken over our guardianship. Then the problem had been keeping him away from my sister, who was definately more gullible than I. And Zachary? Well, Zachary had been many things, the least of which was a mistake, and nothing more. I had given in to temptation, and I had learned my lesson.

Sitting beneath the tree, I saw something moving beyond the hedge, and my fear of the forest propelled me forward to Charlotte, who had been carefully watching a harvest spider make its way up a tree.

"Charlotte," I whispered, and pulled her towards me behind the tree. Why I thought it would protect me, I wasn't sure, but without saying anything to her I held her tight and waited, expecting a wolf, or some sort of jungle beast to snatch us up and have us for dinner. I closed my eyes as the rustling of leaves began, and Charlotte began to squirm as I squeezed her tighter. "Shh...be still, little hen."

I felt my breath catch, and buried my face in Charlotte's hair, wishing I had ran for the house instead of hiding behind a stupid tree.

"Yes little hen," a dry voice said from above me. "Be still, we wouldn't want Madame Novelli to begin having the vapors."

I nearly screamed, but I recognized Erik's voice immediately, my body becoming a useless bundle of muscles as I realized I had not been designated for an appetizer.

"You're here!" Charlotte yelled, and succeeded in kicking me in the ribs in her haste to make it to Erik. I looked up in time to see her attempt to latch her arms around him, but he held his arms out in front of her, making her stop.

"I can't hold you, not just yet. I'm quite dirty."

He was. Leaves clung to his clothing, and he appeared to be soaked from the chest down. His teeth chattered visibly, and I could see he was shivering. It wasn't really cold, but I suspected with whatever he had been up to, he had somehow managed to make himself that way.

"Were you swimming?" Charlotte asked, breathless with excitement.

I could see how pleased he was to be greeted by his daughter this way, and he glanced at me in amusement. "In a way...but I wouldn't recommend the...lake," he said, trying to smile, but too cold to do so.

"Charlotte, why don't we let your father change his clothes, then he can tell you about his...swim," I said, pulling her back towards me.

He looked fairly insolent for a moment, then nodded his head. "Of course. I'll be more than happy to tell you about it, after I've done as Madame Novelli _suggested_."

He seemed to indicate that he was not taking orders from me, and I hid a chuckle quite well beneath a cough. Of course he wasn't. I was only trying to make the man more comfortable, and he thought I was directing him! How typical of a man.

"Yes, so I suggest you go, before you catch a cold," I urged, unable to resist prodding him a little more. My insistence earned me a dirty look, and he finally muttered something about never being sick before he left. I wasn't sure if my chuckle reached his ears this time or not, but if I were to judge anything by the way he hunched his shoulders, I would say it had.

- -

I had just settled down to read, when I heard stomping coming from down the stairs. Charlotte had abandoned me in favor of waiting for Erik at the landing, to be certain he did not escape her this time, I'm sure.

"We're going to see Carlos," Charlotte informed me, and I glanced up to see her bundled well in her heaviest winter cloak. I had not put it on her, and she couldn't possibly have reached it herself. I realized Erik must have done it, and the image of them together made me smile. She had her arms around his neck, and his eyes were friendly and relaxed, one arm supporting her, and the other supporting the dog.

"How nice," I said softly, folding the book closed on my lap. "Tell Carlos I said hello."

Charlotte giggled, and kicked her legs in sudden child abandon. Erik dropped the dog, attempting to grab her leg before she unintentionally kicked him in a delicate manner, and I averted my eyes as he cursed. Charlotte had a tendency of doing that to men. She had kicked me earlier in the ribs, and they were still quite sore. She had done it to Raoul, often, and to anyone else who happened to pick her up and catch her in a giggle. I felt Erik glare at me, as if it were my fault he'd nearly been injured, but I didn't say anything. Merely smiled. Maybe I could take a lesson from Charlotte next time he stared at me. Or maybe I could say and do nothing, and see what happened. I still couldn't decide what that stare at meant. To him, or to me.

"Do you want to come?" Charlotte asked me.

The look on Erik's face startled me. He narrowed his eyes at me, a challenge written in them. He quite clearly said that I was not wanted, although his mouth never moved. In an instant it was gone, and he stared at me with such neutrality I wondered if I had imagined it.

"No," I said, feeling a little unnerved. "Maybe some other time, Charlotte."

My answer seemed to please him, and I wondered if I had done something to offend him, or he was just being difficult.

"You may come if you wish, Madame Novelli," he offered politely, but the look of wariness was back in his eyes.

"No," I repeated, my voice quiet and firm. "This is your time together. Enjoy it."

He inclined his head, and the look of discontent was gone again. They left, and I settled back to enjoy my book, wanting to forget about my moody employer, and discover what _The Agony of Romance_ was all about.


	20. Yearning

Disclaimer: Not mine

_Erik_

Despite my near miss with Charlotte's foot, I continued to hold her as we walked the length of the hothouse, looking over ferns and sleeping bulbs covered in dark European soil, then through several vines that the gardener had allowed to traverse up the sides of the glass walls, creating a sense of isolation and exoticness. I had just added the building last winter, and through the spring the gardener had nursed beautiful flowers to life that he planted in the summer. It had been the most fragrant place I had ever been, with the exception of Christine's funeral, and I had allowed him to order whatever quantity and type of roses he liked, as long as they were red.

"I think I see his tail," Charlotte whispered, and her hand reached out and touched a large vine that had begun to wrap around a wooden post. It moved, and she jerked her hand back with a gasp.

"Not Carlos," I said dryly, and reached out to catch a much smaller, and in my opinion better looking, lizard. I offered it to her, and she allowed it to race up her arm for a moment before it jumped off.

We moved further inward, and I stopped directly in front of the giant iguana, waiting patiently for Charlotte to spot him. She pointed at him quickly, but said nothing, and we merely watched him pretend to be unseen in the foliage.

"Where on earth did you get that creature?" I murmured, tipping my head down to look into her eyes.

"A boy in the village had one and wouldn't let me pet it, and he told me girls had chicken hearts, and that I couldn't have one cause I was a girl," she informed me without taking a breath. "So I told Mama I wanted one, and I got him for Christmas last year."

Ah. The dare that turned into a demand for a gift. "And what do you want for Christmas this year?"

She shrugged. "I'll let you know."

I laughed at her straight-forward, matter-of-fact tone, and she grinned back at me as if she knew she had possessed me completely. She patted my shoulder, as I had seen her do to Evangeline a million times, and I wondered what she would do if I kissed her nose. It seemed like such a thing for a father to do, yet I was unsure and afraid. I didn't want her to be frightened of me, or begin asking questions about the mask. So far she had said nothing, and I was grateful. I didn't want my daughter to know what I looked like.

"Do you think walruses can live in France?"

"Uh. Well...," I tapped my fingers nervously on my leg. "I think there may be some at the zoo. But...we have no room here for a walrus, Charlotte. And I believe they like the water, quite a bit."

"Oh," she replied, frowning slightly.

"And the cold," I added hastily, hoping she was not remembering the house by the sea, where a walrus could possibly live...if it wasn't so damned hot. "They love the cold. Ice, and snow," I shivered dramatically. "And they have huge appetites. For fish, and...other things. A walrus wouldn't be very happy here."

"Okay," she said, beginning to look distracted.

"Would you like to go back to the house?"

"I'm hungry," she confessed, smiling shyly. "Are you going to eat with us tonight?"

"Do you want me to?" I asked, needing to hear the answer. I felt out of sorts after visiting the tunnels, reliving old memories, although I wasn't necessarily treading the same water. Nothing had changed down there. You could still find poor, wretched souls, just like myself. Hiding, barely scraping by, some of them dying before your eyes. It had been hard not to look when I had been the Phantom. One of them, though I had been decidedly better off. But going back now, and feeling as I had, experiencing Charlotte, and the joy of being a father and providing her had troubled me deeply. I hated feeling guilty for finding this little slice of happiness. Hated it...and loved being able to look at them, and know I had finally made it somewhere in my life. I had meaning, with my daughter.

"Yes," Charlotte said, her eyes lighting up at the idea of me spending more time with her. I wasn't quite certain how I had managed to gain her trust, to enter her little heart. She had wound her way into mine effortlessly. That had never been in question. But for me to find what I needed in another person?

I was certain if the doctors at Bicetre could see inside my mind, they could quite easily declare me insane.

- -

Evangeline tiptoed around me warily through dinner, saying nothing, and doing almost nothing to annoy me. I wasn't sure why I had to feel so hostile towards her. I only knew that I felt it whenever Charlotte was around. When Evangeline was alone with me, I felt none of those things. I almost didn't even want to get rid of her, then I would remember who she was, and why I resented her being in my home.

She was Charlotte's teacher. She spent time with her. She had held her, nursed her, cared for her. All things the mother of my child should have done with her, and I should have been the man that had always been there. I was inexplicably jealous of what Evangeline had done for my daughter, nursing her the way she had. I had forgotten that Christine had mentioned Evangeline's own child dying until de Chagny had said something about it last night. That had troubled me, but I wasn't quite sure in what way. I didn't even know if Evangeline was married or not. Or if Victor, God forbid, had fathered the child. It didn't make it any easier, because I knew she was very attached to Charlotte...and that I did not like.

Evangeline had done everything with Charlotte that I had wanted Christine to do with her, and de Chagny had been there to see it all. I hated them both for that. I could almost convince myself I hated Christine, but I still dreamed about her, and sometimes I could hear her voice even when I was awake. She had called to me a thousand times since Charlotte had come into my home, and I wanted so desperately to have another chance to win her hand. Not to fight for her. Not to trick her. To make her love me, though I didn't like that weakness in myself. I never wanted to love another woman again. Never wanted anything other than Christine's memory.

And Evangeline was becoming a serious problem. Because I did not want her around my daughter...but I was beginning to want her in another, very inappropriate way. I did not want to love her, or have her love me. I was past that need to shed myself of my virginity, so that I could die with a little dignity. Now I wanted what every other man in his right mind would want. A woman. A willing woman, who would sigh my name from her lips, and send me into mindless bliss. I didn't know what Evangeline's legs looked like, but I very much wanted to. Then I could dream about her wrapping them around my waist, and doing other things to me that I was certain would never happen.

A man has a right to dream. Still, I knew it would be best for me, and for her if I got rid of her quickly. Best for Charlotte as well, then we could settle down into a routine life, without me constantly thinking about her governess, and worrying that Charlotte might prefer her over me. I didn't want a replacement for Christine. Not in any form.

- -

"Can Eva join us for our piano lesson?" Charlotte asked.

I glanced over to the hopeful looking woman, who had seemingly tried to keep out of my way for most of the evening. She had not joined us for our last lesson, but since she had complimented my music I suppose she was within earshot to hear it. My daughter seemed to want it, and I was slightly curious about Evangeline's skills.

"If she will play something, then yes," I replied, looking at the woman sternly. She knew I had found out somehow she wasn't quite as terrible as she claimed, and didn't bother trying to hide a smile.

"Of course," she said softly. "I'll be happy to play."

She followed Charlotte and I to the music room, and I sat down with my daughter on the bench, re-showing Charlotte everything I had already taught her about scales, and a playing for a few moments so she could watch. I could see Evangeline out of the corner of my eye, her foot moving in rhythm with mine on the pedals, her fingers arching in response to several chords I struck. I played three songs, then let Charlotte practice a few more scales, as well as teaching her the individual keys.

"Someday I'll let you practice with your eyes closed," I told her.

"My eyes closed?" Charlotte repeated, looking up at me with her lips pursed. "That doesn't make any sense."

"You can learn better, and be a better musician, if you play with your heart, and not your eyes," I said softly, closing mine and playing a few notes to please her. She was still looking at me with a dubious expression on her face when I finished. "Perhaps Madame Novelli will play you a song with her eyes closed."

Evangeline smiled at my challenge and nodded. "I can certainly try. It's been awhile since I played." She laced her fingers together and stretched them, making me wince as I heard several joints in her wrists snap.

I moved off the bench, letting her sit next to Charlotte, the two of them whispering in conspiration for a few moments. Evangeline glanced at me once, a frown on her lips, then asked Charlotte, "Are you sure, Lotte? That's the one you want me to play?"

Charlotte nodded. "That was Mama's favorite."

I sank down into the chair, curious what Christine's favorite song was. Evangeline tapped the keys a few times, then began to play, eyes closed. I felt my heart drop as I recognized the song I had written for her. The song she had cried over, and the one that should have convinced her to stay with me. I had poured my entire soul into that song, enslaved to it for days until I completed it, just for Christine. In the end, it had not been enough. So why in God's name had it been her favorite? I listened, struggling not to flinch as it washed over me, reminding me of the stinging failure that I had felt when she still loved Raoul. When she still wanted to rejoin the theater, and make her name known to the world.

I had given her the dream...the chance. She had given me Charlotte, and little else.

Still...there was something missing from the song. It was still beautiful, and Evangeline played it flawlessly, if a little mechanically. But there was something missing, and at once I realized the notes were not quite right. There were some that seemed to be missing from the song altogether, and I wondered then how Christine had gotten the notes in the first place.

Christine was not a pianist. Not a violinist, like her father, nor any other instrument other than her voice. So how had Evangeline gotten and memorized the notes? It was a burning question in my mind, and it burst from my lips as soon as she finished playing. She turned to me, startled.

"I beg your pardon?"

"Where did you hear that song?" I repeated, much slower. "How did you get the composition?"

"I...," she stopped, swallowed hard, then glanced at my daughter. "Charlotte, why don't you go to bed, and I'll come tuck you in-"

"I'll do it," I snapped at her.

"You'll tuck me in?" Charlotte whispered, looking at me with a shy smile.

I hesitated, guilty that I had snapped at Evangeline...in front of her. "If you like, Charlotte. I will do so every night."

"Yes, please," she said, beaming at me. She turned and hugged Evangeline, kissed her goodnight, then flounced out of the room with her curly hair streaming behind her.

"Monsieur Chartraine...," Evangeline began, looking quite nervous. "I never realized before where the song might have come from. I'm sorry."

"Tell me how you got the notes," I said, my voice calmer than I felt.

"Christine sang it to me, and made me sit at the piano and play until it was to her satisfaction," she whispered, staring somewhere between my chest and chin. "She said...," she stopped, then flushed bright red.

"What?" I demanded, my ire rising and giving away the frustration that I felt. "Dammit, tell me what she said!"

"She said she yearned to hear it. When she was pregnant with Charlotte."


	21. Dominoes

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

_Eva_

If I had any doubts before about Erik's feelings for Christine, both past and present, they vanished as I looked into his eyes. He didn't try to hide his pain from me. The emotions were abruptly brought to the surface, and I knew his heart was still broken. His anger vanished, and he simply looked defeated. He would never be able to ask her what the song had meant to her, and why it had been so important that she hear it. Never be able to look in her eyes, and ask if she regretted the path she had chosen.

"I'm very sorry," I whispered, wishing there was more that I could do for him. It felt very odd to comfort him, not only because of who he was, but because he had not been her husband.

"She's gone," he said softly, then cleared his throat as if he realized he had spoken aloud. He seemed embarrassed for a moment, but I merely sat patiently, waiting in case he wanted to speak again. "I...I have not mourned her. I don't quite know how. I've never lost anyone so...," he paused, searching for the right word, "...dear to me."

He let out a slow breath, his hands balled into fists upon his thighs. His head lowered, but he did not appear to weep. He looked as if he were holding it in, trying to take his mind off of what he had been ignoring now for over a month.

"I lost my parents," I said quietly, and he jerked his eyes to mine. "Both of them, within months of each other. My father was sick for a long time." I touched my chest with two fingers. "Weak heart. My mother followed soon after, but I suspect if she had been a little more willing to live, she would have survived the influenza. She seemed to give up after my father passed, although if I'm to admit the truth, I think he really wanted to die."

His eyes had remained on my hand, where it rested over my heart and I moved it quickly. He continued to look at me, and I flushed uncomfortably. I turned back to the piano, picking up somewhere in the middle of Erik's song for a few seconds, then stopping.

"I didn't do it justice," I said, giving him a dark smile. I wanted to ask to hear it, but I knew he probably had no wish to play it. "Charlotte would love to hear it done correctly."

"You did well, with what you had," he responded, finally looking into my eyes. "Did she sing often?"

"Sometimes. I attended a few of the parties that they held together, and I would play while Christine sang. And sometimes they went to other social events, and she would sing there as well. I didn't go to those. But she never returned to the stage."

"You knew who she was?"

Feeling my heart trip inside my chest, I said that I did. And saying that also implied I knew who he was, and I had not wanted to admit that to him.

"Do you have any other family?" he asked me, and I could not help the tremor of fear that went through me. I stared down at the keys, wishing I had simply gone to bed with Charlotte. Yes, I was quite alone other than Rebbecca. But I did not want him to know that. "Evangeline, look at me."

I did so slowly, wanting to see his face and know what he was thinking. Know if he intended on putting me in the woods where no one could find me. Wanting to know if he was really capable of such a thing. For Charlotte's sake, as well as my own, I hoped not.

"What did Christine say about me?" he asked quietly.

"N-nothing, Monsieur," I whispered, uncertain specifically what he was asking. She had not told me anything about him. Raoul had fed me every detail, and I had begun believing until this moment that they weren't true. "She didn't tell me anything about you."

Erik sighed, his eyes leaving mine and rolling towards the ceiling. He leaned back against the chair and I waited as he contemplated my fate.

"I won't hurt you," he muttered, staring at the ceiling. "Don't believe everything you read, Madame Novelli."

I felt ashamed of myself for believing anything less than what I had seen with my own eyes. He had been nicer to me since we had talked. He had not struck me, or even looked as if he might. He loved Charlotte, and was willing to let her see her step father despite what I knew must have been every instinct telling him not to. I was not sure how I would have reacted under the same circumstances. I knew there was much more to him than frightening stories by obnoxious ballerinas and overeager journalists. I was beginning to wonder if he realized it himself.

"Forgive me, Monsieur Chartraine," I pleaded softly, and hoped he would take my words to heart. "You have my word, I have not told a soul. And I will not."

"How long have you known?"

"Several months," I answered, turning away when his eyes resettled on me. "Christine began speaking of you when she first became weak. I thought perhaps she was...ill...again, but Monsieur de Chagny joined her ramblings. Quite heatedly."

"But she told you nothing about me?" he pressed, and I knew he wanted some kernel of hope. Some token of her affection, even in death. It was all he would ever earn from her, and he would probably never stop wanting more.

"She said I was not to be frightened when you came for your daughter. She told me you would not hurt either of us." I glanced at him, seeing him leaning forward eagerly, expecting more. "I'm sorry. That is all she said to me. The Vicomte-"

"He will not tell me anything," he said, an edge to his voice. And Erik would not ask.

Over the great expanse of silence, I could hear a clock striking several times. I counted to ten, and turned back to the piano.

"Charlotte is waiting for you," I reminded him.

Erik stood, as if just remembering he had promised his daughter he would tuck her in. "Of course. I...I appreciate your words, Madame."

His tone left me feeling breathless and nervous, and wondering why his height behind me made me feel warm. I had not had such a meaningful conversation with someone in so long, I didn't want it to end. Or rather, for him to leave and me to lose his company.

"Dominoes," I blurted out. He had been about to leave, and when I turned he was staring at me in the wariness someone has when they think someone else has lost their mind. "Dominoes. Do you play?"

He shook his head slightly, as if he didn't understand what I was refering to. "Are you talking about..."

"It's a game," I said quickly, hoping he did not think I was talking about playing with domino _masks._ "The tiles...," I held my fingers up, indicating the size of a domino. "It's really for old men who have nothing better to do than sit around and play. Beating you, until you feel like giving up forever," I began rambling now, obviously the world's best domino player, and conversationalist. "I used to play with my father...it requires some knowledge of mathematics, of course, and Charlotte already knows how to play..."

"Are you offering to teach me?" he asked, his lips turning up slightly.

My mouth fell open, and I closed it again. "Well, it really isn't hard to learn. But it can be fun..."

"Then consider yourself challenged," he said softly. "I will meet you in the library after I see to Charlotte."

He left, leaving me still sitting at the piano for several moments, feeling like such an idiot that I was incapable of inviting someone to play at dominoes with me. Most likely any lecherous notions he entertained about my breasts had vanished as he realized how low my intelligence probably was. And to think that I was teaching his daughter lessons in deportment!

Of course, some men prefer females with little to no brains. I could think of one in particular now, though I would never voice my opinion on Christine. It wasn't that she hadn't been smart. She had just lacked an ounce of common sense. As much as I appreciated all that she had done for me, I was in no way deceived by what kind of person she had been.

It made one wonder what she possessed that had two perfectly fine men chasing after her, as if she were on fire, and desperately had needed to be put out. I knew one of them had certainly been burned.


	22. Affection and the Defeated

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

_Erik_

Charlotte looked nearly asleep by the time I had made it to her room. She lay on her side, petting whichever cat it was that looked like a giant ball of gray fuzz. Oscar, I thought. When she heard me she sat up, already in her white nightgown and deep under the covers.

"Are you mad at Eva?" she asked softly.

I sat beside her on the bed, nearly feeling overwhelmed at what I was about to do. The first time I was ever going to tuck my daughter in. The first of many times, hopefully.

"No," I reassured her. "I'm not mad at anyone."

She moved into my arms so fast I barely caught her before she knocked the breath from me. I heard her little sigh, and wrapped my arms around her, rubbing her back and brushing aside her thick hair.

"Did Mama's song make you sad?"

I pulled back and looked into her troubled eyes. Her chin trembled, and she looked as if she were ready to cry. My daughter had the ability to heal my heart, and make _me_ want to cry at the same time. "A little," I confessed, although it had been more than just a little. I wanted to tell her I had written the song, but she seemed too young to understand the significance. I would tell her one day. And tell her how much I had loved her mother, and how I wished I had been there from the very first time she had cried, and that I would have taken care of her from the day she was born. "But not too sad. You don't have to be afraid to think about her Charlotte. You may talk about her...you may listen to that song anytime you like. I would love to teach you the music one day, then you may always play it when you want to hear it."

Charlotte smiled and lay her head back against my chest, and I fought against tears that had risen to my eyes, and the raw, aching urge to cry that welled in my throat. My chest felt as if it would split open, and I rested my chin on top of her head and listened to her breathe.

"Are you ready to go to sleep?" I finally asked her, once it appeared she was not going to do so in my arms.

"Yes, please," she replied, giving me a shy smile. "I want my covers tight," she told me firmly.

I knew that, but I didn't say anything. I had been here with her every night since she had arrived, and I had watched Evangeline tuck her in, wondering how on earth the child could breath and move with them so tight around her.

"Then your covers will be tight," I promised, and shifted so she could scoot beneath them.

Instead, she put her arms around my neck and hugged me, and I lowered my head obediently as she demanded that I allow her to kiss me. With the mask in the way, she settled for my lower jaw, then sat back with a frown.

"Why did you change them?" she demanded. "I like the other one better."

Surprised that I did not feel embarrassed by her asking about them, I said that this one fit better. It was true, it did, but it was more annoying than the half mask. And it was not the reason I had changed them. If I could find a way to remove Evangeline from the house, I would change back.

Her hand reached out and traced the leather, and I closed my eyes for a moment, only opening them to be sure she wasn't trying to remove it.

"Why do you wear it?" she asked, her voice quieter now, as if she knew she had broached a delicate subject.

"Oh, Charlotte." I sighed, wishing I had that answer. Or rather why I had to wear it. I had begun after I left Bicetre, although at one time I had removed it for money. I had never realized until I was a little older that I would want to hide my face. It had coincided with a sudden understanding of females, and I had hidden my shame beneath burlap. "Someday I shall tell you. Not tonight...maybe when you're old enough to understand."

"That's what Eva said about my brother," she muttered, not pleased with my response. She turned and scooted under the covers, and I decided I really didn't want to know what she had asked about her brother.

"Then don't worry about those things until I give you permission to worry," I said lightly, then leaned down and pressed a swift kiss to her forehead. It was strange how the things that affected me the most only seemed to make her smile. My heart was pounding in my chest as I kissed her, and she merely smiled. I dutifully tucked her covers beneath her, leaving her lying there looking like a stiff, waif like doll, although her color was better now than it had been in the past few weeks.

I left the door open a crack, whispering good night back to her when she called out in the dark room.

- -

Evangeline was sitting at the table where normally my chess set would be, the game placed carefully aside as she removed small, flat tiles from a box. I had nearly stuttered for a moment when she mentioned dominoes, thinking she had meant a mask. I had heard of the game of course, but like the chess set, since I had no one to play with I never played, and since I never went anywhere I had never even bothered acquiring a domino set.

"These are yours?" I asked her, picking up a small ivory tile.

"My father's," she said softly, then held her hand out. "I need to jumble them around, so the odds will be fair."

I sat and watched as she placed her hands over as many as she could, then swirled them around on the cherry tabletop. We each drew one, and hers being the highest she was allowed to choose hers first. I chose mine, and she left the rest of them to the side.

"This is the boneyard," she informed me, smiling when I glanced at it with interest. "Set your tiles up like this," she instructed, setting her own up facing away from me. "The boneyard is used when you have no matching tiles. The object is to _domino_ first, or to play all of your tiles. It helps if you never have to use the boneyard, but sometimes it's necessary."

She explained more rules, and I watched her face as it became animated and she began to relax more as we began to play. "You played this with your father?" I asked, as she blocked a tile I had been planning on using. "Not chess?"

Evangeline sighed, her lips twitching a moment when I countered her move with one of my own. "Chess tired him. He was very weak those last few years, and at the end he could hardly get out of bed. Dominoes doesn't take as long. Poker requires being able to use your hands too much, and when he tried to play chess he grew frustrated because he knocked other pieces over, or we would begin a game, and he wouldn't be able to concentrate." She moved again, closing a branch I had wanted. "This was easier for him. And for me."

"How so?"

"It was hard to watch him. I knew he was dying...and he had always been a very active man. He was a botanist for the Museum of Natural History. They sent him all over the world to acquire new plants, new species of insects that could be beneficial to plants. He was always very fit when he was younger, but he retired after he began having heart problems," she glanced up at me, and I could see how much she missed him. "I think it was the worst thing he could have done. To confine himself at home...at first I loved it, because he spent so much time with Rebbecca and I. Then...he began to stay in bed...and finally he never left it."

"And then your mother died, and Victor began his reign of terror?" I asked softly, staring at the table to resist my thought of touching her hand.

"He was trying long before she died," she muttered, her eyes narrowing on an unsuspecting domino tile. "Our fathers worked together. He was a little bastard as a child, and an even bigger one as a man. We hated one another on sight from the day we met, and when he returned from medical school with his degree, I still didn't like him. I tried to be nice to him at first." she blew out a sharp breath, releasing some of her tension and made a move that ensured I was probably going to lose. Maybe I shouldn't have made her angry while she played. "But he was still an ass, and tried to intimidate me into letting him court Rebbecca while Mama was still alive. I borrowed my father's vocabulary, and told him where to go. He didn't appreciate it, and somehow convinced my mother that he should be our guardians when she died. Since his father was gone as well, and mine was gone...and she knew she didn't have long, she signed some document he placed in front of her."

"Why was he so interested? He certainly didn't need to be your guardian to try and court your sister," I said quietly. I wanted to know more about her situation. Wanted to know what she would need when she left, and despite how much her story touched me, I told myself it was not my concern about the past. My curiosity was purely for the sake of getting her to leave...and leave willingly, hopefully.

"Rebbecca and I stood to inherit a small amount when my mother died, as well as the house. Well...small compared to this," she gestured to the library, lifting her eyes to the ceiling for a moment. "but I could have lived comfortably for many years, as well as Rebbecca. He wanted the inheritance, because he had spent everything his father had left him. See, both of our fathers were gamblers. But they were smart about it...played only what seemed like a sure thing, and never bet more than they could afford. Victor was stupid. He lost everything, and wanted more. So when he became our guardian, I refused to allow him into the house, and tried to keep him away from my sister."

"Not you?" I asked, then stared uncomfortably at the tiles on the table. Our game had stopped, as I had not moved again, and I wondered why I had asked that question. My good sense should have outweighed my inquiring nature, but where she was concerned it did not.

She laughed, and I shifted on my seat. "No. Rebbecca is far more beautiful. A perfect lady...sheltered and innocent. That's what made her so appealing to a man like Victor. She was easily controlled, and he had stolen her virtue without me ever knowing. She does whatever someone tells her to do, without question. As long as I had kept him away from her, she obeyed _me_. The moment I left the house, she allowed him inside and...well...," she stopped and shrugged, "...he married her without my consent, but he never really needed it. She moved in with him, and when I was allowed to see her she was the emptiest person I had ever seen in my life."

I stared at the tiles more, my mind still hung on what she had said about her sister being more beautiful. I couldn't imagine that, and certainly did not want to picture Evangeline in any other way other than the most innocent. I could imagine her far more beautiful though, if she were lying across my bed, or slipping out of her dress. If I ever witnessed that, nothing would convince me anyone was more beautiful than she was. Strange, I had never been fond of redheaded women before.

"Are you going to move?"

"What?"

I sat up straighter, startled out of my wicked thoughts. She was frowning at me, as if she had known precisely what I had been thinking, and she could see my face flame beneath the mask.

"It's your turn."

I moved my tile into position, and she immediately moved hers to another location. Obviously her eyes had been on it for several moments while I had been losing the game wondering what her skin felt like.

"You're going to lose," she taunted me with a gleam in her eyes. She had three tiles left, and I didn't have a move in me. I would have to pass this one, and hope she gave me something I could work with.

"This time," I conceded, knowing my mind had not really been on the game. I had enjoyed it, far more than I would ever admit to her. No woman had ever played a game with me before. At least not one involving odds and winning.

It stung deeply as I realized it, but not even Christine had done something so utterly normal with me. I had barely been able to have a rational conversation with her, let alone do something so ordinary like a board game, or anything else. We had shared music, and not much else. I had loved her, and still had to share her heart with another man.

"You lose."

I looked up, stunned to see she had beaten me, although I had been expecting it. My heart skipped, and I felt something flood inside of me I didn't want. Didn't need. Didn't bargain for.

Affection.


	23. The Center of the Forest

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

_Eva_

He hadn't said anything to my claim of victory, and was staring at me with his mouth tight, and eyes guarded. I glanced back and forth between him and the table, wondering what the expression in his eyes meant.

"Have I bored you?" I finally asked, flipping open the box for the dominoes.

"I'm sorry. I suppose I'm overly tired," he replied, glancing at a clock beside us. It read a quarter to midnight, and I quickly began putting the dominoes away.

"I broke your after ten rule," I said softly.

Erik yawned loudly, and I stopped moving as he stretched quite noisily. "So you did. Never mind. That rule no longer applies."

He seemed almost half asleep suddenly, but I couldn't resist asking, "What was the purpose of the rule? To keep us from stealing away from the estate?"

"No, to keep you in your room while I raided the kitchen," he replied, smiling at the table. "I didn't want to come across anyone while I was having a midnight snack."

I laughed, my irritation with his vile rule vanishing as I pictured him stealthily creeping through his own house for a morsel of food. "I cannot blame you there. If you had not hired the cook, I fear I might have broken it sooner. We may have met one another over cheese and wine."

"Then you are pleased with the cook?" he asked, and I sensed that he needed my approval for the way he ran things. I had cursed him my first month here, and demanded that he let me speak with him, so I could probably curse him more and tell him what a fool he was.

"Yes. She's excellent."

He nodded, and began to look tired again, "Perhaps we will play again soon," he said quietly, indicating the table. "Tomorrow I will be absent from the estate. Tell Charlotte I will at least be here to tuck her in."

I couldn't resist prying, although I didn't really expect him to confide in me. "You're going somewhere?"

"I am."

He evaded me not only with his words, but with his eyes. I was instantly curious what mission was so urgent that he would be leaving during the light, and be gone all day. For a man so determined to spend his life in hiding, he had certainly been gone quite a bit. Of course, I had no idea exactly how much time he spent away from the estate because he had kept himself hidden from me at all hours until recently.

"Is it something Charlotte might enjoy?" I pressed him.

He frowned, seeming to ponder my question seriously. "Hardly an appropriate place for a child," he murmured.

I flushed as scarlet as my hair. He was going to visit a brothel. Or a mistress. Or a dockside prostitute. I finished storing my game tiles hastily, avoiding his eyes until it was time that I leave.

"Well...," I began softly, and stopped when I saw how amused he was at my reaction. He seemed to find it overly funny I had prodded him about his visit to a woman. "Good night, Monsieur Chartraine."

"Good night, Madame Novelli," he said smoothly, still seated and looking as if he might burst into laughter at any moment.

I left, my father's dominoes trunk clasped tightly to my chest, feeling my face burn even after I had climbed into bed and buried my head into the pillow, groaning softly. I dared not voice my thoughts of him aloud. Though the mirror might be covered up, I had no idea if he still found it amusing to listen in the walls outside my room. Most likely, considering who he was. I lay there, picturing him outside my room, listening to me. The idea of it was intoxicating, and I felt the flush leave my face and travel to other more interesting parts of my body. I was charmed by the Phantom. And now that it was out in the open, I had my doubts about the freedom he had given me lately.

Not that I had a wish to revisit the hospital. Of course, since I could think of no way to get to Rebbecca, staying here seemed the only safe thing to do. I began to weep as I finally realized I would never see my sister again.

- -

True to his word, he was gone all day. I had no idea why it disturbed me that he was absent for such a long period of time to complete his _business_, but I felt annoyed and irritable all day. To make matters worse, it was freezing outside, and I thought about Rebbecca, wondering if she had even a blanket to warm herself with. I struggled and lost against the urge to punish myself for being warm and dry, not knowing what her condition was, or if Victor was plotting something evil. I curled up with Charlotte in an over-sized chair and let her read parts of a Grimm's Fairy Tales book, amused when she skipped over stories that involved eating children, or cooking witches. It was truly morbid, but Christine had allowed her to read them, and Raoul had not seemed to mind. I was not sure if either one of them had ever actually read the book, or were consoled with the title mentioning fairies. I wasn't certain I would have allowed my child to read them, but as I had done a million times, I reminded myself that I was not her mother.

She couldn't read all parts of the story, and I helped her as she stumbled over various words. In four months she would be six, but she was very advanced for her age. I tried to rejoice her birthday...and ignore the day before. That had been the day my life had changed. My planning for nine months had been destroyed, and I had found myself leaning on the arms of strangers, holding a different newborn in my arms. Different, but no less loved by me.

"To an end, young ladies, remember: you do well not to listen to strangers, and remember that the wolf can come in many forms," Charlotte said ominously, weaving her story with dramatic flair. "Be he gentle and kind, or noisy and spiteful, unless you intend to serve him from a platter, heed my words."

Charlotte frowned at the picture of The Big Bad Wolf, creeping on an unsuspecting Little Red Riding Hood.

"Why should I serve him a platter?" she asked, looking up at me with a frown.

"You shouldn't," I told her sternly. "If a wolf asks you to serve his meal, you may tell him to go to someone else's kitchen."

I heard a snort behind me. Thinking of Erik, I turned quickly, but it was Madame du Brul, dusting at the shelves lining the library.

"Are you allowed in here?" I asked quietly.

"When a door is open, it means he wants me to clean the room," she informed me, as if offended I had a right to question her.

"Oh. Is he usually out so late?"

It was almost time for dinner, and with darkness had brought a never ending chill to my bones. The library had its own fireplace, but I had allowed the embers to die down, content to snuggle with Charlotte.

"As far as I know, he has never left before," she replied.

Maybe it was taking him time to find someone, I thought. Perhaps with the mask, he had difficulties finding someone who was willing to follow him into a dark alley, or perhaps take him upstairs. Of course, some women might find it irresistible. I considered what he might be like to kiss, however briefly. I had made enough mistakes where men were concerned I couldn't imagine my mind ever being changed.

"How much longer before my other Papa visits?" Charlotte demanded.

"Today is Thursday. You have one full day, and almost two more half days to wait."

She sighed. "I want to go to sleep now, so I may get it over with."

"If you go to sleep now, you miss your supper, and you won't be awake for your father to tuck you in," I reminded her.

"Oh, Eva," she sighed again. "Very well. I'm going to see where Gertrude is."

She dropped the book into my lap and ran from the room-calling at the top of her lungs for the dog. Madame du Brul winced as Charlotte screeched, and I had to admit the noise was not an easy one to tolerate.

"He's truly never left before?" I asked Madame du Brul.

She shrugged. "As far as I know. He goes beyond the hedge sometimes, and moves the carriage entrances around. He always lets me know where the private gate is, so I may leave for supplies without pestering him too much. And I suspect the gardener knows more about the outside of the estate than I do."

"Moves the entrances?"

"All the time."

"What about his own visitors?" I continued, curious about him now more than ever.

"I don't believe he has ever had one," she stopped and turned around to look at me, dusting a bust of a figure I realized suddenly wore a half mask. I stared at the features on the uncovered side with intensity, unable to relate it to the man who wore the entire mask. "I take packages to a publishing house occasionally, and bring back things from there as needed. As far as I know, it is the only contact he has with the outside world."

"Erik writes?" I asked, moving closer to the bust. Chiseled features, vacant eyes. Full lips. Yes, this was him.

"On a first name basis, are we?" Madame du Brul said coolly. "I don't know. I never look through his personal effects."

Right. And I wouldn't either...unless I had known I would be caught.

"It was all I knew of him when I came here," I said defensively, turning back around and avoiding the stare that the sculpture was giving me.

"He was displeased with the scene at Salpetriere. I do know he deplores the violence you must have suffered, Madame Novelli."

I turned to look at her again, seeing she had brazenly rested her hand on top of his head. "I don't know why you're telling me this. Most men are displeased with violence against women."

He's nothing special, I wanted to say, but I knew it was untrue. Living here with him made me feel safer than I had ever felt before. Oddly, I found refuge in the Phantom's home, where I knew no one and nothing could ever harm me. I wanted the same for Rebbecca, but I had no control over my sister. I was only one woman, against an army of hospital guards. There was nothing I could do for my sister now.

"Monsieur Chartraine will not allow that man to hurt you, Madame Novelli."

"I know."

I returned her gaze, surprised at the steady tone she had taken with me. She, the coldest person I had ever met, offered me comfort. Offered Erik compassion, even though I knew she was frightened of him. I wondered what had driven her to employment here. What had caused her to want to hide as much as I did? To be hidden, and remain in the center of a protective forest that stood as nothing against the presence of the man who had claimed it as his own.


	24. The Last Vassal

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

_Erik_

I would have left long before, but sitting beneath the hospital had finally ventured useful information at the end of the day. I thought I heard Rebbecca's name twice, and moving up the shaft of an access tunnel had brought me to a conversation between who I assumed was Victor Clarke, and a young guard who had been placed in charge of her.

"Rebbecca hasn't regained consciousness?" Victor asked. "I want you to pull her off her medication immediately."

"But Dr. Clarke-"

"No," he said impatiently. "She can suffer through her withdrawals without the use of other drugs. I think moving her back to the main part of the hospital will pull her sister out of hiding, and I need her in a more secure area. Keep her quiet for the next few days, then I can move her without anyone noticing."

"Where do you want her in the meantime? She's going to be quite loud," the guard muttered.

"Oubliette."

I swore beneath my breath. They meant to throw her in a dungeon. I would have no way to get to her unless I dropped directly through the top. And there was no telling how I would do so unseen, then carry her up the ten or so feet to the surface.

"If she quietens down, you can put her back in the women's chamber. I shouldn't expect much noise out of her until sometime next week, when she finally is aware of her surroundings," Victor said, sounding brusque and unfeeling like I knew all doctors to be. Especially these sort of doctors. "If she begins making racket, put her in the oubliette. If she still makes noise...well, I have an answer to that as well."

I wondered what he meant, but since I could not see him I really didn't know. Perhaps torture, or rape, or worse. I shuddered thinking about them putting her down that lightless shaft. I had been in my own oubliette for many years...the word literally meaning the forgotten, or _to forget_.

"What about the woman from Chantilly? Do you want me to allow the other guards access?"

"Has she learned her lesson?" Victor asked softly.

"I believe so."

"Then the other lessons may recommence. I have permission from her husband to...," he stopped, as if realizing his plots were being unveiled to a lowly guard. "Go on, get out of here. You have your orders."

"And if Alencon asks any more questions?" the guard whispered, sounding quite nervous.

"The superintendent doesn't need to know what goes on with my wife, nor my private patients. Am I making myself clear, Devries?" the good doctor growled at him.

"Like a diamond," I muttered, wishing I had the fortune to meet Victor when I finally found Rebbecca. I had an idea now of where she was, and all I really needed was motivation to enter. I was hesitant...and I had a dreaded feeling about the place. For the first time I was uncertain of a plot to work, and I hated the notion that I was rusty. I could not shake the sensation that things were not going to go as I hoped, and it irritated me to feel so damned unsettled.

"Get lost, before I decide you're no longer worth my time," Victor barked at him, and I peered up through the daylight in the grid, catching the glimpse of a boot sole as it stepped directly across my face. I inched up closer, my mask touching the grate as I strained to get a look at Victor Clarke. It was pointless, because I merely saw the half of an ankle. I tried harder, flirting with my insecure nature, trying to force myself to regain the confidence I had lost in my ability to be silent. Technically, it was not my ability to remain unseen and unheard that had me so doubtful. It was the fact that I was breaking into a hospital...and kidnapping a young woman. Not major points in my favor if I were caught...then there was the issue of the mask.

I would be sent straight to Bicetre if I someone found me.

- -

For the second time in as many days, I returned to my home soaked to the bone, freezing cold, and miserable. If I wasn't careful, I would never make it to steal Rebbecca from Salpetriere, because I would die of a cold first. Not that I had ever been sick before, but I knew that now was not the time to succumb to any sort of illness. And I still had Raoul de Chagny to look forward to.

I wanted to go straight upstairs, crawl into a steaming bath and fall into bed but I had promised I would be available to tuck Charlotte in. Despite the chill, I made it to her room with my teeth chattering and grateful for the dark room to hide my pale face.

"Charlotte," I said softly, and she turned on her side to look at me.

"Yes?"

"I...I'm afraid I can't come near, I've managed to tumble in the lake again," I lied, keeping my secrets of darkness and danger. "If you like, I can kiss you, but Madame Novelli shall have to tuck you in. I'm far too cold and wet."

"Oh, my," she gasped, the perfect vision of innocence and beauty. "Papa, it's far too cold to be swimming," she scolded, and I felt my heart leap at the endearment.

My daughter had finally called me something, and I could do nothing more than look at her in freezing misery. She sat up dutifully, and I pressed my icy lips to her warm forehead, then to her cheek.

"Do you want me to send Evangeline in?" I whispered, my throat tight and hands tingling with the urge to hug her.

"Yes, Papa," she said, sitting back against the pillows and hugging Gertrude to her. "And don't go swimming again. You look quite cold."

"Yes, daughter," I replied softly.

I left her lights on and crossed the hall, taking a moment to compose myself and stamp out any open emotions my daughter had set in my eyes. I brushed a leaf from my overcoat, and straightened my shirt collar, grimacing as I heard squishing in my boots. Evangeline answered at my second knock, dressed in a royal blue dressing gown, her hair down around her shoulders and a book pressed to her chest. The effect was startling, as her auburn hair shimmered in the light coming from a hearth in her room, and the blue gown complimented her tresses so nicely.

"Yes?" she whispered, pulling me out of thoughts of drowning not in a tunnel filled with runoff water, but in her amber eyes.

"I...," I hesitated, wondering why I hadn't simply sent Charlotte with the message.

"You're soaked!"

"I..."

"Monsieur? Are you alright?" she asked, looking at me in sincere concern.

Finally managing to have a rational thought, I nodded. "Could you please see to my daughter-I'm afraid I cannot tonight. I've already spoken with her."

"Of course," she replied, her book pressing tighter to her body. She folded her arms across it completely, although I caught a glimpse of the title.

She was quite inquisitive, and I had wondered where the book had gone. She either knew she had been caught, or assumed I was staring at her breasts again, because she took a step back.

"Madame, I thank you," I said quietly, and proceeded to back away from her as well.

I heard her shuffle into the hall and felt her eyes on me as I stalked away, eager to sink into hot water of another sort...or perhaps I should enjoy the chill that I suffered in the tunnels. It would cure my wicked thoughts, and tame my racing pulse. I stomped upstairs shedding clothes and waiting impatiently for the water to heat enough to scald my skin.

Once I felt halfway warm, I redressed and went back downstairs, eating a thankfully still warm meal the cook had left for me over coals. The library called to me, and I finally settled beside a roaring fire, roasting myself with delight near the snapping logs.

"Feeling better?"

I didn't turn my head as she came in and sat down across from me. I said nothing for awhile, as I remembered too late why I should have kept this room private, or at least locked myself inside alone. I was not in the mood for company tonight, especially hers.

Christine had started out innocently enough. I had begun training her when she was still too young to even think about in any romantic manner. Twelve years older than she was, I had not expected anything at first other than the chance to share music with someone. I had grown fond of her. Then protective. Then something else entirely when de Chagny had shown up. An obsessed lunatic, who had only been concerned with myself and no one else. Selfish, and damned determined that she be mine, or nothing at all.

Affection.

Bitterness twisted inside of me because as much as I wanted to believe I could look at this beautiful woman and feel only affection, I knew I could not. Being in proximity to her was already torture. I was a fool and I knew it. The problem lay with my cynical nature. This was only the second woman I had truly known in my entire life. The only woman I had ever lived with, and played dominoes with, and shared thoughts with. I could yearn for her to be my friend as much as I wanted.

In the end I would still fall in love with her, and that was something I could not tolerate. I could not be so foolish to fall in love with every woman I ever met more than five minutes. Yet I knew that if she showed me even the slightest interst, I would do so. I would do so easily, and end up broken and ruined again.

"I'm afraid my mood is foul tonight, Madame Novelli."

She raised her eyebrows, and tugged the edges of a matching heavy robe tighter around her. "I can see that."

"Hardly fit for company."

"Yes, I can tell."

Neither of us said anything else, and I kept my gaze on the fire to avoid giving her a clue about my lewd thoughts or foolish dreams. During the long day beneath the hospital, with many miles of tunnel and freezing water between us, I had allowed myself to imagine how grateful she would be once I delivered her sister into her arms. I pictured stealing Rebbecca in the night without mishap, and knocking on the door to Evangeline's bedchamber with her sister in my arms. A proverbial knight. A vassal of her beauty, and in her compassionate state of happiness she might press her lips to mine as payment for services rendered.

I closed my eyes and shut my thoughts the moment my hands slipped around her back and pulled her closer, the kiss leading into something more. To compensate for my ridiculousness, I pictured her ripping the mask from my face and laughing. In the end that was what ended our night in the library. I had to do this now. There was no way I could not do it now because I had already imagined her finding acceptance in me, and looking at my face without flinching, without screaming. I wanted to believe that she would laugh, and could almost convince myself of it. The fact that I couldn't was what had me terrified.

My voice came out harsher than I intended, but sent her scurrying from the room immediately.

"Go to bed, Madame!"

She leapt up and clutched her robe, slippered feet flying from beneath her dressing gown. A red rope braid swished behind her hips, drawing my gaze lower to bare legs. The fact that I felt guilty did not set well with me. I could not imagine what she thought about me now, and had my mind been clearer I could have placed what I believe was the first spinning wheel of my plan into action. Instead I had to behave in an asinine manner, as if I could not control my urges any more than a rutting sailor. Of course I could. I had for years, and if I truly needed to relieve my mind there was a perfectly good set of postcards upstairs that Frenchmen are often criticized for enjoying...and producing. There was even one featuring a redhead. But I didn't want that, and I was more frustrated now than I had been in the theater.

Still, I hadn't meant to hurt her, or frighten her. And it was not conducive for my plan to work in any case. After waiting for more than two hours, I started upstairs then changed direction quickly. At least I could do something to keep my mind occupied if I was going to talk to her. I went to the kitchen briefly, then to her room. The light was out and I slipped in without waking her, sitting beside her on the bed. I did nothing more than watch her sleep for several minutes, until I had to make use of my prop to keep my hands occupied.

In the silence, my chewing sounded inordinarly loud, and I ate slowly and methodically to ensure that she heard every last bite.


	25. An Unknown Promise

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

_Eva_

_Crunch. Crunch._

The sound was annoying, and woke me gradually.

_Crunch. Crunch...crunch._

When my eyes became adjusted to the darkness, I saw my employer sitting on my bed. Eating, and staring at the wall.

"What...what are you doing in here?" I whispered suspiciously, sitting up and pulling my blankets around me.

Erik's lips raised at one corner as he turned his head, as if I had asked the most obvious question in the world. He took another bite of...what was _that_?

"What do you have there?" I asked, looking at it with narrow eyes. It looked like an apple.

"A potato."

"A..._potato_? You're eating a potato? Is it _raw_?"

"Why yes, I do believe it is," he said, sounding horribly shocked. He looked at it askance, as if just realizing it, and I laughed nervously. His manner was quite different from the brooding, surly man I had left in the library. I wondered if he had come to apologize, although in my state of undress I rather thought I could have waited until morning.

"Why didn't you cook it?"

"I considered it," he said softly. "But I figured...it's only a potato. And all I wanted to do was eat it."

His subtle banter relaxed me, and I forgot the uneasiness of awaking to him in my bedchamber. There was nothing remotely vulgar in his behavior...there never had been. Not once since I had come here. And I considered vulgar as suggestive remarks and inappropriate touching. Heated looks and obviously lusty thoughts were fine, so long as he restrained himself from ever acting on them. I was strong enough to handle whatever he threw my way. It had been a long time since I considered myself a naïve virgin, and I had to admit I had wondered about him at times as well.

"Have you ever eaten a raw potato?" he asked me, and I shook my head, looking at him apprehensively when he produced a knife. He sliced off a piece from an uneaten end, then handed it to me. I was certain nothing odder had ever occurred in my life, but I sniffed it cautiously before I ate it.

"Well?" Erik prompted, looking quite pleased with himself.

"It's a potato," I confirmed, swallowing the crunchy, slightly chalky textured vegetable.

He finished the last of his meal, then braced a hand over his knee, suddenly seeming quite hesitant. He turned away and I saw the careful way he considered his words.

"Tell me, Evangeline. Would you agree to anything to get your sister out of Salpetriere?" he asked quietly.

I felt an odd combination of heat and anxiety at his query. I had finally gotten a glimpse of his face, or rather his mask, but it was his eyes that stood out, making me feel as if no matter where I was he would be watching. To my knowledge, he could have been all this time. And as much as I was uncertain what his words meant, there was no mistaking my response. My breasts tightened, my stomach clenched, and I felt warmth spread from my core to every single inch of my tingling skin.

"Monsieur?" I whispered, sounding as uncertain as I felt.

"I will free your sister, Madame Novelli, provided you agree to something."

I swallowed painfully, watching his posture. He did not appear nervous in any way...not the way I was, sitting here with him in the dark. He did not sound what I had heard termed _hungry_, by men who lusted after and manipulated women into having sex with them.

But I could not be sure, of course.

"What are you talking about?" I finally managed to demand, feigning absolute ignorance. Hope beat through me at the mention of Rebbecca, and I wanted to believe there was a chance what he was telling me was true. I simply could not think of how he could achieve it.

"You know who I am?" Erik simply asked me.

"Yes."

"Even if Raoul had not told you things about me, or you had not heard them talking about me in their home, you would have known. A soprano named Christine...a hideous creature who dwells beneath a theater. It is the sort of thing nightmares are made of." He raised his head, but did not look at me. A vaguely bitter smile crossed his lips, "As is my face, Madame," he said beneath his breath. "As is my face."

His words broke my heart, and I reached out and touched his shoulder. The look I must have given him seemed to make him angry, and he brushed my hand away.

"I have no need for your _pity_," he shot at me, and I held my hands up defensively. "I'm not asking _you_ for anything...don't be kind to me, damn you!"

He managed go curse a few more times, to show me his impressive and most colorful vocabulary. I waited until he had settled down then I relaxed again in bed, moving my covers aside to show him he hadn't frightened me, or that I wouldn't be intimidated by his nasty tongue.

"Then what do you want?"

Erik glanced down at my bare legs, exposed to him to the knee. I flushed under his lascivious gaze, wondering what he would do if I took his hand and pulled him towards me. Wondering what I would do if he suddenly leaned forward and put his hand on my leg. Yes, I knew precisely what he wanted. There was no need in him telling me. The startling intensity of an issue I had ignored for the last few days came to head, and I felt an increased fullness in my breasts and between my thighs I had not experienced in many years.

"I want to know if you would agree to _anything_, Madame Novelli. Would you? If I were capable of freeing your sister, would you do it?" he repeated, his tone indicating he had lost all patience with me, although his eyes remained on my body.

"Do what...precisely?"

His snort of laughter irritated me, although I was wondering if sex was what he had in mind at all. "You will not know until...and that is _if_...I successfully complete the mission. Would you still agree?"

"It isn't something I will like, is it?" I whispered, feeling unease settle through me.

Erik turned his head, looking at me with perhaps the saddest eyes I had ever seen. "No. I don't think you will."

We stared at one another for several moments as I pondered his deal, and also pondered whether my promise would have been necessary. If sex was what we were talking about. I forced my mind back to Rebbecca. Yes, I would do anything for her. I would promise anything if it meant saving her.

"You won't tell me now? Even if I promise this very moment?" I whispered again, the confidence I had in myself and my trust in him diminishing. I didn't want to sleep with him to save her. I would do it anyway, I realized, but I didn't think he would ever make that move. I knew my wicked thoughts would send me straight to hell, but I had longed for a man to hold me for far too long.

"No. What does your sister look like?"

"Petite. Red hair like mine. She has a brown birthmark on her right arm." I raised my hands to my neck and fumbled with a locket. I opened it for him to see, and he almost leaned forward to look.

"Remove it, Madame," he demanded, folding his knife and putting it away.

I did so hastily, and he examined the portrait of me first, before he turned to the one of Rebbecca.

"This looks fairly old," he grunted, tilting it to catch the light from the hall behind him.

"Ten years ago. I was fifteen. Rebbecca was thirteen," I said softly, already craving to have it back in my possession. "How can you possibly think you can get her out?"

"I'm not making you any promises...that is the reason for the promise you will either accept or deny. I don't know if I can do it. And be aware that taking her as I will puts her in great danger."

"Tell me how you plan to do this," I insisted, wondering how taking her from the hospital could put her in danger.

"There are tunnels beneath this city that stretch under every single building, and under every single street. There are even some beneath this property. One of them leads to Salpetriere, via endless twists and turns and drainage canals. There is also a central holding area which I must cross...hence my swan dives and freezing returns to the house the last two days."

"Did you find her?" I asked before he had finished his speech.

"I believe I know where they are keeping her."

_"They?"_

Erik shifted on the bed more, and I moved my legs aside to allow him more room. He could have sat between them for all I cared, as long as he told me what he had been up to.

"I was close enough to Victor I could have touched him." He gave a prideful smile, and glanced down at the miniature. "He had a guard with him named Devries. Do you know him?"

"No."

"I didn't see either of them. Describe Victor to me," he said slowly, then handed my necklace to me.

I thought for a moment, discarding words such as evil and obnoxious. They wouldn't help him, and would only serve to relieve some of my stress towards him.

"Fair complected. Tall..."

"Taller than me?" he interrupted quickly.

"No. I don't think so." I wasn't sure, but there were very few men I had met as tall as Erik, except perhaps Zachary. "Blond hair...I'm not sure of his eyes. They were light in color. Like...like Madame du Brul's."

"Like ice?" he offered, and I nodded. "Is he a big man...fat...hairy? Bald?"

"Thin, and I don't quite remember what the state of his hair was. I haven't seen him in a long time...and the visit the other day didn't count. I was too terrified to notice...why the sudden interest in Victor?"

He didn't answer, and I suspected it had as much to do with Charlotte as my sister. "Where is his office located?"

"I'm sure he's moved because of his new position. It was once in the administration building. Top floor."

Erik sighed, his mouth twisting in unhappiness at the news. "Record room?"

"Monsieur Chartraine, you cannot sneak into a hospital, kidnap my sister from the premises and expect to go back and retrieve Christine's permission slip for Charlotte!" I exclaimed. Obviously this man had delusions about his abilities.

"I intend to make more than one trip, Madame," he drawled out, as if I were being impossible for doubting his intelligence.

"How do you know Victor doesn't have the document in his possession?"

"If it's in his possession-I will retrieve it. Probably be much quicker with his cooperation," he muttered casually.

"You're going to get yourself killed. I cannot let you do this." The more I thought about it, the more preposterous it sounded. He was serious! My God, he was serious and as much as I wanted to believe in him I could not allow Charlotte to lose both of her parents.

"They're taking your sister off her medication cold, and putting her in another part of the hospital," he said, looking at me intently. "A more secure area...one I will not be able to get to as easily. If I move within the next couple of days your sister will be here safe and warm. Dry, and eating better than whatever rot they throw her in the oubliette."

"Oub...?" I whispered in horror. "How can they do that to her? Oh, please." I turned away and covered my mouth. My fears turning to truths at what he was telling me. My poor sister, who had been more innocent than the smallest child. Who had never spoken harshly, or done anything to rebel against my parents. Not as I had done, but we had always been close. Always loved one another.

"She isn't in it yet," he reassured me. "They mean to put her there to silence her while she is going through drug withdrawals."

"Drugs?"

He hesitated for a long moment, then nodded. "The doctors at Bicetre like to experiment on their patients. I'm not sure about your sister, because Victor referred to her as a private patient. I don't think the superintendent is aware of what he is doing."

"Maybe we could-"

"This is the only way. If Victor sees you on the hospital property, he'll take you. The superintendent likely will not help you because we don't know what he's doing either. This is the only way, Evangeline."

I stared down at his hands for a moment, wondering how much they were capable of. Murder? Would he murder guards and Victor if necessary to free my sister? Would he be gentle with her, and guide her through the maze of tunnels he obviously knew so well? The fact that he had been researching the hospital for the last two days was a shock. Especially when I had been trying to imagine what he could have done with a woman to come home so cold and wet.

"You think you can free her?" I whispered, and glanced up to find the first sign of hesitation there.

"I promise I will try."

I took a breath and held it for a long time, willing the air to push an answer into my brain or out of my mouth. "I don't want anything to happen to you," I said softly.

"Nothing will." A muscle worked in his jaw, and he swallowed a gallon of empty air.

"Charlotte..."

He lowered his eyes a moment and nodded. "If I die, then you tell her how much I love her."

"Monsieur, you cannot die! She will be devastated to lose both of you," I choked out, beginning to feel anger and fear rocket through me. "There must be another way."

"I've been beneath the hospital for two days," he replied, looking perfectly calm. "No one has seen me. No one will. I was probably so close to your sister I could have touched her if my hand could move through walls. It might have been her voice I heard screaming for help. She could have been the one I heard the guards beating...or another that-"

I held my hand up, wishing he would stop. He did, looking far too pleased with my discomfort. He had said those things intentionally to sway me, and damn him it worked.

"What do you say, Evangeline? Do you want your sister here with you? Saturday night, early Sunday morning?"

So very tempting. I could have her in my arms. I could care for her. Hold her. Protect her. All at a price, but one I was willing to pay even though I didn't know what it was.

"And you will not tell me the price?"

"No. Not unless I do everything with success."

In the silence I heard the clock strike. The witching hour. I shuddered, and released a deep breath when the clock stopped at twelve.

"You have my word. I will make your promise, if you free my sister."

I released him instantly with my words, and he left the room as silently as he had come. There was no use in me pretending I could sleep, and I rose to draw myself a bath. I needed something to relax me.

I had just made a deal with the Phantom, and I could only shiver at what my promise was. It was nothing, however to the agony of what my promise entailed for him. I hoped that whatever he was about to do didn't kill him. Charlotte would never forgive me. And I would never forgive myself.


	26. Freedom for Free

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

_Erik_

I realized on Friday as I drifted through the tunnels that I might require assistance. Evangeline was the only candidate, and the answer brought me no more relief than knowing she would be out of my life soon. I would give her sister a few days to recuperate, but then she would leave and I could breathe easier knowing some distance was between us. Perhaps I might let her visit Charlotte on days when I could find a way to occupy my time elsewhere, or even manage to have a civil conversation with her without imagining what she would look like satisfied by me. Not that I knew what she would look like satisfied, because I had always been certain I had not pleasured Christine at all. For years her act of compassion had made me feel hollow and empty inside, because I had lain with a sacrificial virgin. Literally. She had sacrificed herself to allow me a moment of ecstasy, and I had given her nothing but my seed.

There had been a million things I wanted to do with her, but I had done it quickly the first time, so sure that there would be a second time to do it right. Slower, with more finesse and with a greater opportunity to explore her. My hasty fumbling had brought her pain, me humiliation, and both of us had been dissatisfied, and the second time never happened.

My performance last night with Evangeline had been much better. I had remained calm, chewing on my potato with deliberate slowness so she did not suspect I was up to anything less than honorable. I had not acted on any urges, and had hopefully given nothing away other than perhaps I _might _have liked to ravish her. Might have did not signify the desperate need I had to possess her. Might have did not cover the furious way I had given up last night searching for postcards that for some reason I misplaced.

Which brought up an interesting question. How did one man _misplace_ his postcards?

In any case, I knew I would need help at the central holding area to get the girl safely back to the house. Crossing the water would be something I could do alone. However, she would likely need to be redressed, and I was not intending to fight a woman over changing her clothes. Especially one I did not know. The trip to the house would be a long one, and I didn't need her weakened body to develop any illnesses by catching a chill. I personally knew how cold the water could be.

And when I finally got Rebbecca Clarke and Evangeline Novelli out of my life, I could concentrate on protecting Charlotte. I knew what Evangeline thought I would ask her to do. If it had been funny, I would have laughed. But my God, she had agreed to my demands, possibly believing that I would actually make her do something so damned shocking. It had not appeased my desire for her at all. It had heightened it considerably, and I was becoming more frustrated every time I thought about her legs. Because now I _did_ know what they looked like. Long and slim, but still muscular. Firm, I imagined. Taut. Strong. I had a million adjectives for them, but the one I wanted to know first and foremost was: were they as soft as they looked?

If I had not been so determined to hide my reaction, I would have snatched the covers and thrown them over her head entirely. The potato had worked, but if I had wanted it to last I should have brought at least a dozen. And she had held the necklace out to me from her sweet neck, which would have required me to come quite close to her face. To her lips, to her breasts.

I honestly thought she might have been trying to kill me.

Asking the help of a woman seemed like a rather stupid thing to do, but since it was her sister then I would do it. She could hopefully get the girl back to the house while I went back for the second part of my mission: finding Charlotte's permission slip. After the hell I had gone through I would leave nothing to chance them taking my daughter, no matter what age. And if anyone thought that the Phantom had disappeared from Paris, then they would see how terrifying he could be if anyone even approached Charlotte.

- -

I listened quietly, sitting beneath the walls of the building I believed Rebbecca was in. Three Ward it was called, and from what I determined most of the patients were in a comatose state. This was a building that Victor used for his private patients. I heard the guards talking occasionally...there were three of them, but only two on duty...and from what I gathered these patients were here courtesy of other doctors! Relatives of other doctors, to be precise. There were seven women, including Rebbecca Clarke. The woman from Chantilly I had heard mentioned yesterday. Her lessons were of submission. This was not only an asylum, this was a lesson in mind control. The woman was the wife of a doctor at Bicetre, and he wanted his wife to learn how to submit to him. Apparently he did not like his women saucy. The others were various relatives. One had even committed his mother to Dr. Clarke's Ward of Torture. And since Victor was on the board at both hospitals, no one dared to question him. He had more influence than the superintendent, and Alencon was frightened of him.

"Has Clarke made any noise recently?"

It was Devries, and he sounded slightly hopeful that he would get the chance to throw her in the oubliette.

"None," another guard muttered. "If he thinks he's going to move her easily, he needs to rethink his plans."

"Why is that?" Devries asked, sounding suspicious.

"Her hair is out. All over the damned floor. She's nearly bald."

"Well, if she had behaved, he would have let her eat," Devries laughed, and I felt my insides twist. Exactly how thin was she going to be? I didn't want to kill her, trying to save her life. "Besides, just because she's being moved doesn't mean anyone will see her. No one will know her anyway. She's been down here too long."

"When is he moving her?"

"Next week, after he's certain she's lucid. I don't know if she will be or not. He's had her doped up for months now."

I sighed, wishing I had the strength to move through walls and crush heads. I listened to them begin to berate other guard who had the day off, and make plans to visit another patient who was willing to exchange sex for food, then have a drink after work. If I had the time and energy, I would have loved to become the Phantom of Salpetriere, frightening the hell out of guards and doctors who abused patients and served their own needs selfishly over the neglected ones left in their care.

Doubtless they were even given a pot to piss in. I never had one in Bicetre.

"Whose on tomorrow?"

I perked up at that, eager to know who would be guarding the women while I was taking Rebbecca.

"Me, and Roiz," Devries muttered. "If we don't kill one another first."

"Enjoy yourself," I heard the other one sneer.

"Oh, I will," Devries said softly, and his tone indicated in what manner he would find his enjoyment.

"_Imbecile,"_ I growled, and loud.

"What did you say to me?" Devries demanded, sounding very offended.

"Nothing."

"It didn't sound like nothing! Say it again, and I'll break your face."

"Try it, and we'll see how big your ballocks swell when a _man_ kicks them. And I didn't say anything," the other guard said sharply. "Have you been drinking again before work?"

The other man didn't reply, which probably meant he had. After awhile they began talking about the other guard who was not present.

"Clarke is going to move him if he isn't careful. If Costas hadn't been so important to him, he would have sent him to Bicetre," Devries mused.

"Roiz is too soft. Clarke shouldn't have put him here," the other guard agreed. "He's been wanting to file a complaint since his first day, and he's been seen with Costas. Clarke's sister was paying him off...that's why he was moved."

"Well, it's only been a month. Roiz could prove to work...I didn't think you'd last a week," Davries said, laughing in a very weasel-like manner. "Yet, you've been here three years."

"Well, you showed me how beneficial working here could be."

_"Moron!"_

I slithered away as I heard a great crash above my head, chuckling to myself. They wouldn't ever have a clue they'd been fighting over a ghost.

- -

Evangeline was standing in the main hall when I returned to the house. She eyed my soaking clothes and my pale lips with an arched brow.

"Skulking around?"

"As always," I said, unable to resist making her flush. I knew by now that she knew about the passageways in the walls. And she also knew about the mirrors, or she never would have covered hers up. "If you will allow me to change, Madame, there is much we need to discuss."

"Yes, there is," she informed me tartly.

"Then...if you'll allow me...," I repeated, indicating I needed her to move.

"Monsieur..."

"I'm cold, Madame Novelli. I'm _freezing_, and I'm not in the mood. Not until I've had a warm bath, dry clothes, and something incredibly hot to drink. If you want to argue, then do it when I have my wits."

"I have yet to see them," she muttered, but moved aside.

I felt her eyes on me, watching to see which way led to my room. I turned a corner at the top of the stairs, disappeared from view then slipped through a wall. The secret to my home lay in the one single door that could 'show' you where upstairs led. The only problem was that the one single door that 'led' upstairs did not open. You had to know where the secret passageway was located to find my room. Madame du Brul knew where the door was. It was the one I spoke through when I needed something. Three meters down from the door is the first of many hidden door that I use to make it upstairs. If Evangeline found the first hidden door she would make it. Too bad she could only think of finding the one that didn't matter.

I scalded my skin with hot water for the third time in as many days, redressed then went downstairs to alleviate any fears she had managed to think up all day long. She was still standing in the hall, obviously eager to do whatever was necessary to ensure I didn't escape her.

"I'm going with you," she said firmly.

Her demand surprised and delighted me all at once. At least now I wouldn't have to ask.

"Madame-" I began, merely for the sake of arguing.

Evangeline's eyes flashed, and she marched towards me with her finger pointed straight at my nose. "I will not allow you to endanger yourself alone. I'm going."

"So if we're caught, beaten, then hung, at least we'll be together?" I said sarcastically. "Fine, if you want to come along, so be it."

Her mouth opened, then closed again, obviously ready for more of a fight. I half expected her to ask, 'What, that's it?'

"If you are coming, then there are things you will need to do."

"Such as?" she asked, her eyes now showing her true fearful nature.

"Dress warmly. _Very_ warmly...wool if you have it and sturdy shoes. And you'll need one extra set of clothes. A dress, shoes, and cloak. Perhaps a blanket if you have room to carry it."

She narrowed her eyes at me, obviously wondering if I planned a tryst or a heist. "What about you?"

"What about me? The clothes are for Rebbecca. I hardly think I'd look decent in a dress." A smile spread across her face, as well as a lovely blush that went right up to her ears.

"I meant what if you're caught? They'll put me in the hospital, yes...," her eyes focused solely on the mask for the first time ever, "...but they'll do so much worse to you. Is my agreement to you so important that you would risk your life for this? Because if you don't care about my sister...if it means nothing to you...then I shall do as you ask without you freeing her."


	27. Afterwards: The Sweet Reward

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

_Eva_

He seemed to consider my words carefully for a moment, then walked past me to the parlor. I followed, my eyes on his long legs and broad back. It was the first time I had ever seen him without an overcoat, and I would have loved to seen him without the waistcoat. And the white shirt beneath it.

"Trust me, you'll want your sister," he finally said, sitting down and staring at the fire. "Besides...after what I heard today, then yes I do want to free her. I'm not...," he paused and looked at me, green eyes hard and wary, "...I'm not completely selfish. I do possess the ability to feel for others."

"I never said that you didn't."

I swore if I could have seen his eyebrow, it would have rose. I had called him selfish and uncaring, before I had really met him and gotten to know him. He did have a heart, and his loyalty and devotion to his daughter...and even to his employees was unsurpassed. I could not imagine Raoul doing what Erik was about to do.

"If I don't get her now...which, by the way I'm going to in any case as you have already promised...then your sister will be moved. Possibly her care will get better, long enough for her to almost regain her strength, then they will put her back where she is. It will be a cycle repeated for the rest of her life. Treat her well enough not to kill her, then treat her so badly she'll want to die."

He stopped again, and I moved to sit beside him on the sofa. My actions made him nervous, and he looked back to the fire with his hands clenched. If he were not my employer I would have taken his hand and asked why he was so afraid of being touched. Or so unused to it. Charlotte's kiss had made him cry, and I often thought about what Raoul had said about Erik's redemption, and how it had saved both his life and Christine's.

"What did you hear?" I questioned, my fear now exploded so high in my mind I could not describe it.

"Her hair has fallen out. They haven't been feeding her," he responded without emotion.

"Her hair...?" I stopped and touched my own. The Novelli hair, that technically was the Stirling hair on my mother's side. Red...sometimes varying shades. Mine was dark, Rebbecca's slightly darker. Mama's had been nearly orange, a fact she lamented nearly every day until she died.

Erik described the conversations he had heard with the guards, and it sickened me that Victor had his own private wing where he could do as he pleased unsupervised.

"He must be taking private patients to pay for his gambling," I whispered.

"Tomorrow when de Chagny comes, I'll allow him to stay for an hour or so. Then you and Charlotte have a good long rest. And rest well tonight. Eat," he told me sternly. "I can't have you falling behind. I don't want to carry two women."

I smiled, despite his gruffness. "I'm no weakling."

"You're a woman," he muttered. "If you complain once...in fact, if you speak, I will send you home."

"Yes, sir," I replied, giving him a mock salute.

He stopped speaking, unable I suppose to think of anything else to say. My proximity to him on the couch made him uncomfortable yet he made no motion to leave.

"Will you join us for dinner tonight?"

Erik nodded slightly, staring down at the floor. "Yes...but I have much to do tonight. After that I won't see you until tomorrow."

If I could have read his mind, it would have said: no dominoes, no meetings in the library, no visits to your bedroom. I wasn't sure if I felt disappointment that he would not be around, or if I needed a distraction from what I was about to do.

"You yourself will not be going above ground. You will wait for me at the juncture of several tunnels. There is a drop off from the tunnel holes which leads into a freezing pool of water. I'll need you to get your sister out of her wet clothing, and dry her as well as you can. It will be nearly a thirty minute walk back here, just from that point."

"How far will the hospital be from there?"

He gave me an odd look. "You will be beneath the walls of the hospital at that location. Use common sense, if you possess any, and do not make any noise. If I have to stuff something into your mouth, you will be quiet."

The hospital was only a thirty minute walk? Beneath the streets, it must be easier to maneuver around. "And if we're caught?"

"You won't be."

He said nothing about himself, and that made me nervous. I wanted to go with him to ensure he wasn't hurt, or captured. I dreaded thinking about him being killed, and then having to tell Charlotte her father had died. Or perhaps we would all die, and everyone would simply assume we disappeared.

"About Victor...," he said, hesitation in his eyes. He moved finally to the fireplace and warmed his hands. "In case I meet him, I should like to know if he ever hurt you."

"Of course he hurt me," I said bitterly. "He's taken my sister...ruined my home with his filth and vile-"

"You misunderstood me, Evangeline," he interrupted sharply. "Did he rape you?"

He didn't face me as he asked, but I heard the anger in his voice, the unspoken hatred he held for a man he had never met. The fact that someone cared enough to ask after all this time made me want to cry.

"No. He tried once...," I sighed, remembering his pathetic attempt to enter my bedroom. "He couldn't open the door. He never had a chance to after that, because my sister shot him."

"And afterwards?" he prompted, finally looking at me. Some of the anger was gone, and it had been replaced by curiosity. He was fishing...he wanted to know about the baby.

"Victor never touched me," I said quietly. "Willing or unwilling. That is all you need to know."

"Are you married?" he asked, still persistent.

"No. I have never been married," I said softly. He turned back to the fireplace, hiding his response from me. "Does that offend you?" I was referring to having a child out of wedlock, but saying it would make it seem wrong, and I had never thought it was wrong.

"Why should it offend me? I did the same thing you did."

"Because you're a man, and it's different," I said bitterly.

"No. It's not. I wasn't censuring you, Madame. There's nothing you've done in this life that could make _me_ look down my nose at _you_." He emphasized himself, as if what he had done was so much worse. I wondered how much of his misdeeds he regretted. I wondered if he regretted Christine, or if he merely wished to have known his daughter at birth.

I forced my mind away from their odd relationship, and steered it back to the crime we were planning. I found it incredibly hard to believe I was planning a crime with this man. I must have made some noise, because he turned to look at me.

"Does something amuse you?"

"Yes," I admitted. "I'm a partner in crime to the most sought after legend in Paris."

He chuckled, turning around and warming his hands behind his back. "I don't know. The rat catcher had his share of glory days. And there are far more interesting people in this city other than myself."

I doubted that, but he seemed to be amused by my response to his identity. I had feared letting him know at first that I knew who he was. Now it seemed he was relieved to have it in the open. He was friendlier; nicer.

"Paris believes that I died beneath the theater," he said evenly.

"I said I wouldn't tell a soul. How do you know Raoul won't betray you?"

Erik shrugged. "I don't. But he knows if I escape, he's the first person I will look for."

He didn't indicate what he would do if he found him, and I didn't ask. There were some things he didn't need to tell me, and some things I didn't want to know. The fact that I found his dangerous side appealing was not necessarily a shock to me. Zachary had been a hard man. Tough, and with more scars on his body than I had ever seen. I had chosen him specifically because he looked that way, and I had known Victor would not dare come after me with a man like that standing beside me.

"My father was a gambler," I blurted out.

"Yes, you told me," he replied, looking at me strangely. No doubt he didn't have a clue what I was trying to tell him.

"He never bet on races. Horses...dogs...he didn't like to watch that sort of thing," I twisted my hands nervously on my lap. "He bet on illegal fights. British boxers come down here and fight our men. Papa always bet on who he thought would win. Victor always bet on the underdog, believing that at some point one of them would win a fight, and he would have chosen someone no one else had."

"If the right person had come along, I could see the odds in his favor," Erik said simply.

I nodded. Yes, and it would have made him a rich man if one had. I took a deep breath, and continued my story.

"There was a fighter that Papa had introduced me to once. He lived down the street from us...Papa used to bet on him all the time. When Victor recovered from his gunshot wound, he had my sister taken from the gendarmes and committed. As her husband...and as her psychiatrist, it was not hard for him to do so," I whispered, and moved my hands beneath my legs to keep them from trembling. "I had known what he would try to do. He would try to put me in there as well, or force himself on me. Beat me. So..."

"You went to the fighter?" he asked, and I nodded again.

"I began having an affair with him," I said softly. "And Victor only came to my door one time. It was enough to make him never want to come back."

I lifted my chin and looked him in the eyes, daring him to say anything about what I had done. Daring him to say something about what we were about to do. I had agreed to it, yes. I would agree to anything to free Rebbecca, but I would rather keep it a seperate issue if sex was what he wanted.

"You did what was necessary."

"Yes. I did the only thing I could think...the only thing I had left to give away. It was not the best idea I had, but it worked." I had not even realized I was crying until my face began to itch, and I wiped away tears. "Victor seized the house, and everything in it. I took my clothes and a few personal things of my parents without him seeing it. He claimed as guardian of the estate, he had a right to protect it from miscreants."

"He did this himself?" Erik asked, sounding surprised.

"Oh no. He had the gendarmes present, but he was nowhere around. And Zachary could do nothing, although he offered to beat them all senseless."

Erik repeated Zachary's name, almost to himself. I wanted him to know that I would sleep with him willingly, but I did not want to do so as payment for him taking my sister. I had made that mistake already. I had prostituted myself for protection. I had done everything with Zachary willingly. I had sought him out, I had let him kiss me and tempt me, and quite honestly it had felt wonderful to surrender to a man. Despite his career, he was gentle and kind although he suffered much because of the ruthless pounding he took to his head and body several times a year.

Erik stepped in front of me, and I tilted my head back to look at him. His eyes remained on mine as he crouched down, a million questions in his mind, although he only asked one.

"And afterwards?"

I said nothing, because I couldn't speak. There was nothing stopping me from leaning against his chest and sobbing my whole story to him. Telling him every detail of my affair with Zachary, and begging him to help me forget. Nothing...nothing...

"There you are!"

I turned, breathing a sigh of relief as Charlotte launched herself into her father's arms. He caught her, the spell between us broken and buried his face against her neck.

Charlotte had saved me. She had saved me just now. And she had saved me-afterwards.

* * *

I will be writing a few scenes out of sequence, so my updates may not be very frequent. I intend to write the scene in the hospital next, but it won't be included in the story for a couple more chapters. And I have already written more of this story for what happens after the hospital. I read somewhere that the scenes you want to write the most are called 'candy bar' scenes, and I have a million of them in my head. I will also be writing the ending to French Sky, then building towards the ending. Something different I am trying, since I hate writing the ending most of all. Thank you for reading, and if I make any changes, you can check my profile page. Thanks again. 


	28. A Hateful Promise

Disclaimer: Not mine

_Erik_

She wasn't going to answer me. Or rather, now she wouldn't have to and I wouldn't have to respond to any more of her troubling story. Charlotte squeezed me tighter, and I held onto my daughter thanking her for saving me from making a fool of myself.

_Zachary._

Now I knew the man's name. Had he abandoned her while she was with child? Died? Offered her marriage...sold her out to Victor? How in the hell had she managed to end up in Salpetriere, when it was most certainly the last place she would have wanted to give birth?

"Papa?"

Sweet God, she had said it again. "Yes, Charlotte?" I whispered, studying Evangeline under my lashes. Her mouth was tight, and eyes cold. And odd combination, because she was still crying.

"Madame du Brul says I'm full of nonsense. I showed her my ghost, and she says they aren't real."

"Did she?" I murmured, "And where is this ghost?"

"In my room," she informed me. "Gertrude thinks so too."

Hell. I glanced at Evangeline, and she was hiding a smile beneath her hand, lashes still wet from tears. "There isn't a ghost, Charlotte. Ghosts like to live in old spooky places. This house is younger than you are."

"Really?" She stared at me in disbelief. "But it _is_ spooky."

"If you say so," I said casually. Maybe to a young child it was...maybe I had made it that way on purpose. "But there are no ghosts here. You have my word."

"But there are ghosts?" she asked persistently.

"Maybe," I shrugged. "I've never met one...have you?"

Evangeline laughed, and Charlotte turned and stared at her a moment. "No," she replied solemnly. "Have you, Eva?"

"Not many," Evangeline mumbled, staring down at the floor. Charlotte giggled and squirmed out of my arms into hers. Her actions only served to remind me of why I was doing all this in the first place. It rankled still that this woman was here instead of Christine. Why I continued to long for that eluded me. Christine had betrayed me. Not only in the theater, but with Charlotte as well. She had deceived me, and I still wanted her. Not in longing for her as a woman. Or for any special trait she carried.

I had never been able to prove my worth to her, as a man, and now as a father to our child. And Evangeline so ignorantly waved a red flag in my face each time she took Charlotte into her arms. She breathed against my daughter's neck, and I saw the way her lips and hands trembled. She was still overwrought with emotion and it was obvious how much she used my daughter to help fight off the grief for her own child.

I wondered how often she had pretended Charlotte was hers when no one was around. She met my eyes, and I wondered about a great many things that went through her head...none of which I liked.

I rose and moved away from them, going to the fireplace and watched as they leaned close and began to whisper to one another. I heard Charlotte mention something about dolls and choosing a dress for tomorrow, then she flounced from the room without even looking in my direction.

Irritating. Disheartening. How could something so small bother me so much? I felt as I always had. Unloved and unlovable, and unimportant to any one single person in the world. It hurt like mad that not even my daughter deemed me worthy of bidding farewell.

"You must have many things you need to do," Evangeline said quietly, perhaps sensing my mood had changed a great deal.

"Yes." She moved, and I held my hand out to stay her. "You were correct last night in assuming you would not like what I made you promise. But it's too late to back out now."

Her stare was even and unflinching, but I knew inside she was wondering what she had agreed to. Was she quivering in fear, believing she might have to lie with me? And yet...she had just offered to do so willingly. Perhaps that had been a ploy, to get me to change my mind or to tip my hand. I had no way of knowing, but I could rake my eyes down her body and watch her flush deeply. She never said anything when I stared at her like that. Never did anything to let me know if I offended her or not, although occasionally she crossed her arms over her breasts.

She did so now, and I turned away. Let her assume sex was what I wanted. Somehow I thought it would be better if it were.

"You'll need to familiarize yourself with the tunnel layout tomorrow. Try and remember everything. Every detail, in case you need to leave without me."

"Without you?" she whispered. "But...but Monsieur..."

"It is not the original plan," I admitted, "but sometimes plans must be altered to fit what you need at that moment. Tomorrow I will relay a message to the gardener that he is to wait with the carriage at a designated location. If anything happens to me, you are to make it inside that carriage. Without me. Perhaps without your sister. Who knows? As I said last night, I will be putting her in danger taking her...and hopefully she will cooperate. I will try not to hurt her, but I cannot guarantee that I won't have to knock her out should she begin screaming."

"Knock her out?" she asked, her voice sounding a little shrill. I held my hand up to calm her.

"I don't have to hurt her to do that," I said patiently. "I didn't say I would hit her. I've never hit a woman. Not for any reason."

She began to gnaw on her hand, clearly more worried now than when I had first suggested this to her. "Well...do you have a map at least? Something you can let me look at?"

"I have a map of the city. That is the best I can offer you."

"Can you draw the tunnels? Perhaps just the main one that leads from here to the hospital?" she looked hopeful and sincere, then dismayed when I shook my head.

"I haven't lived this long by revealing all my secrets, Madame Novelli." I tapped the side of my temple, although really it was the mask which I touched. "Your map is here, and it is the only one you will need. I have an escape plan for you...do not fear."

"And if you are caught tomorrow?" she demanded. "What becomes of Charlotte? And of your employees? This house? Of the promise that I made to you...which I know nothing about?"

I sighed quite heavily. This business of being responsible and responsible for other people was vexing. I was used to living recklessly, taking risks where none were really needed. Now I had Charlotte to think about, and couldn't go mad capping around as if I had nothing to live for.

"If I die, then...then I suppose it only right that she be raised with her brother," I stated calmly, although I didn't feel it. Admitting that had brought me no measure of peace, and I vowed to return if only to prevent de Chagny from completing the upbringing of my daughter. I turned and faced the fireplace. "And your promise to me need not be recognized. I will be dead, and it will hardly matter. All of my employees will be provided for. I shall make sure of it."

"Monsieur...if you die doing this...it is because of the promise in the first place. Don't you see? I cannot live not knowing the reason you died. Please, you must tell me. If not now, then leave me some way of finding out..."

"I'm not going to die," I snapped, glaring at her over my shoulder. She tightened her mouth and gave me a look of total frustration. "I will leave a letter, telling you what I wanted. But if I something should happen then I don't expect you to keep the promise."

Because the promise had already changed, only she didn't know it and never would. I wanted her away from Charlotte, yes, but now it was more of a need to put her away from me. I could hardly breathe with her in the same room as I.

I could not function...and that was intolerable.

"Whatever it is...if it is within my power, I will do it," she said softly.

Meaning if she thought I wanted to have sex with her, that was not within her power if I were dead? I nearly chuckled, but thought she might think me odder than she already did.

"Why are you so concerned with keeping a promise that I know you won't want to keep? Especially if I am dead...and especially since I am the one you made it to?"

Those damnable eyes of hers pierced me, and I felt unnerved by the directness of her gaze. "Because I made it. Is there some reason that because I made it to you-specifically-that I would not want to honor it?" she asked, challenging me to mention the mask, or any other reason I might have which would indicate a doubt I had about myself. And there were many.

"No. Not really," I said, a bit of self mockery in my tone. "If you really want to say you will keep your promise, then do so. But don't be surprised if I don't believe that you would really want to keep it. Whether I die or not...I suspect at the end of this you're going to hate me very much."


	29. Amber

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

_Eva_

His words made me shiver. I was going to hate him? What exactly was I supposed to do? If his ogling was any consolation...which it was not...then I would be swapping much more than promises with him later. And the way he behaved had me wondering if his sexual nature were normal at all.

How on earth had a I ever thought it could be? The mystery surrounding Charlotte's conception aside, the man had an odd way about him. I wondered if perhaps he played sex games. I had been an innocent, sheltered girl, despite my rebellious nature when I had begun my affair with Zachary. And he was the coarsest men I had ever met. Big, handsome, in his own rugged way. A little more of the devil in him than anything else, and much more of a man than I had ever been able to handle. When I had first approached him he had treated me just as I was: a naïve virgin who he hadn't wanted anything to do with. Then by the time I had finally managed to convince him to bed me, he hadn't been the most gentle or considerate of lovers. Not that he had hurt me...but he had not known how to take a girl's innocence. It had been a shock that he never had before. Weren't all young women my age virgins?

Then, when I had begun asking innocent questions much later in the relationship...he had told me in great detail the sort of thing other people do behind closed doors. My ears could still burn at the memory of stories he told of other boxers who found themselves in quagmires with women, women's husbands, their fathers, and sometimes entire families.

And then I had discovered that some of them weren't all bad...and some of them were down right delicious.

But what sort of things did Erik like?

"Hate you, Monsieur? Hate is a very strong word to use," I said, intending to dispel my own fears. I nearly asked him to go upstairs now and complete the act. Would it just be once? Or the rest of my life?

Would I hate it?

I stopped thinking altogether when I wondered if I would get pregnant by him.

"I apologize if I have frightened you," he answered. "I can tell you that it does not entail you coming to any harm. Does that appease you at all?"

"No. Not really."

Erik sighed, and lifted his shoulder. "I'm sorry, there is nothing more I will tell you. You can wait another day or so. Just be consoled that by this time tomorrow night we will be on the way to get your sister."

"This time?" I repeated, glancing at the clock. It was nearly eight.

"A little later," he said, looking as well. "Perhaps around ten. Now...I believe it is time for dinner. I will see you tomorrow, and I expect you to rest well tonight and tomorrow."

He said it so sternly, I couldn't imagine him doing anything that would make me hate him. He seemed so considerate and gentlemanly. I decided not to worry about his promise another moment. Tonight I would enjoy the relative peace of the house, and Charlotte, and what little company and conversation Erik would provide. Tomorrow was the time for fretting and anguish. Tomorrow if everything went according to Erik's crazy plan, I would see my sister again.

- -

Charlotte had chatted her way through dinner, and I had listened with my bedroom door open as Erik tucked her in goodnight. His low voice, and her soft one answering brought a smile to my face, and joy to my heart. It also brought bittersweet pain, but I often found that if I concentrated hard enough I could ignore it. Sometimes it was harder than others, but seeing him with his daughter reminded me of my own father with Rebbecca. Not with me. He had always treated me like the boisterous girl that I was. Always talking too much, laughing too loud and at inappropriate times.

In a way I suppose I competed with my sister for the affection of my parents, but they had never withheld anything from me, nor had they with her. I couldn't have asked for a better childhood; better parents. My memories revolved around playing in the street with neighborhood children, responding to Mama's calls and the yelling of every other mother on that street. I obeyed them all, including my own...at times. At other times I had been more well liked by the boys than the girls. I had been too tall, too thin, with a mass of red hair I tended to keep tucked beneath my father's cap when I could sneak one out of the house. The girls snickered at me when I wasn't around, and respected me when I was-if they had good sense.

Rebbecca, the perfect lady, had been appalled by my behavior, and it wasn't until I noticed a particular boy when I had been around twelve that I put my caps away and endured hairdressings just as my sister did. Funny, I couldn't even recall the name of the boy who had transformed me from half boy-half girl, to young lady.

Papa had gotten the museum job, then we had moved to a nicer house, on a nicer street. He took Rebbecca and I often to look at plants, especially the exotic flowers that he brought back from foreign soil. When he would be gone for those trips, Mama would cry at night and both of us would crawl into bed with her, arms and limbs tangled together as we slept in their gigantic bed. It had stopped when I turned fifteen, although I wasn't sure I remembered why. Possibly I had considered myself far too grown up to share a bed with my mother and little sister.

Now as a woman I would give anything for it.

I heard Erik moving out into the hall, and I leaned further away from the door. I was sitting against the wall out of his sight, and had been listening to every word. He was not the only one who liked to eavesdrop. He sighed, then I saw his legs walk past through the open door. I pulled it back to me soundlessly, creating a wider gap, then watched as he walked towards the stairs. His hand slid along the wall, and a space opened. He slipped inside, then shut it behind him.

As eager as I was to race over and look, I knew I could not. There were mirrors everywhere in the hallway, and I had no wish to encounter him now that I had found a clue to his staircase. Snickering to myself, I shut the door slowly and went to bed. Thoughts of sneaking up his stairs and shrieking at him while he slept crossed my mind, and I laughed madly in the darkness, not caring if he heard me anymore.

- -

I rose early the next morning and gathered everything I would need to take Rebbecca. I found the smallest dress I owned, though it would probably not be small enough for her, a pair of warm boots, and a large blanket to take with me. The woolen dress I would wear hung inside the armoire, and I decided to wait until after dinner to change into it. Charlotte had picked out her favorite dress, and I woke her later to bathe and dry out her hair, which took longer to do than washing it. She chattered happily to me the entire time, talking about such a variety of things I found my mind wandering to her father more than listening.

Was he watching now, as I tugged her hair into submission? Was he listening anymore than I was? Gertrude had not behaved irrationally in the last few days and I wondered if he still did so at all. Maybe he had decided that interacting with her was far better than listening through a wall. I certainly hoped so, because it was far better for both of them.

"Alright, Lotte," I sighed, patting her hair one final time. "You are most certainly the most beautiful little girl today."

She beamed at me, "Really, Eva?"

I pulled her close and kissed her. "Most certainly. Every day in fact."

"I love you Eva," she whispered, pressed against my chest as she was. As she had been the first day I had ever held her, and nursed her.

"I love you, little hen," I whispered back. Emotion tumbled through me at the danger I would be facing tonight. I didn't want to think about how this little girl could be abandoned by the two most important people in her life if we did not return. I was glad that he had named Raoul as her guardian, so that she might get to know her little brother if something happened. It showed he was truly concerned for the welfare of his daughter, and I was...yes, I realized suddenly...I was proud of Erik for being the father that she needed. When had he become more than an employer to me? Why had I developed a tender spot where he was concerned? My promise to him aside, he had proven himself to me entirely. If not for the boundary between us as employer and employee, I would say he had become my friend. I certainly had never talked so much with Raoul, or even with Zachary. And I had never played dominoes with either of them. Never heard either of them play such beautiful music, although that pulled at heartstrings that had nothing to do with friendship, and more with my romantic nature.

But if he would allow it after this was over, and if I did not hate him very much for whatever it was that I promised him, I would like to call him my friend.

I knew that he undoubtedly did not have one, and probably never had. Would he think it odd if I asked it of him? I never would have made friends with the de Chagny's, awed at first by their titles, then realizing that in fact they were simply people. But then they never would have called me a friend, because I was merely an employee, although a well liked one.

It was strange that the barriers to social classes often cannot bend both ways.

"Is it time?" she asked, and I glanced down to find her looking anxious.

"Not yet, dear. Your Papa wants to have a word with Monsieur de Chagny before you see him, then we'll go down together."

It was not quite one yet, and Raoul probably had not arrived. He was prompt, but never too prompt, and probably expected Erik to greet him at gunpoint in any case.

Madame du Brul had delivered our breakfasts upstairs that morning, which was a surprise, and we had dined in our robes, laughing to each other with all the abandon of a true mother and daughter. It was hard sometimes to look her in the eyes, and look Erik in the eyes when I wanted to take Charlotte away from him and keep her all to myself. Raising her in the de Chagny household had been a little more free since neither of them had taken much of an interest in her. I had at times thought of her as my own, especially when she had been very small.

As time progressed, and her parents had come in to play with her I had found myself angry with both of them, and green with jealousy. And at times I had felt so guilty for feeling that way that I wanted to leave my job as her governess because I had known it was wrong for me to talk to her as if she were my own.

Amber. It was the name Zachary and I had agreed on if we had a daughter...because he had thought my eyes were like ale, but I had not wanted to name my son or daughter that. So he had said Amber, and when Charlotte had been very small I would call her Amber when we were alone. And at night I knew I woke with that name on my lips, and one time a very long time ago I had called her by that name in front of several people, including her parents.

I had not been able to say that name since, and at times I wanted to so badly I felt as if I would die. It would have been so much easier if it had been a son that had died, and not a daughter.


	30. Two Fathers

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

_Erik_

Madame du Brul's mouth fell open when I told her who would be visiting. She had known to expect company, and had even been ordered to make up a bedroom although she didn't know they were not for the same people. The bedroom was for Rebbecca, provided everything went as planned, and I only intended for Raoul to stay a brief period of time, all of which would be supervised.

"The Vicomte de Chagny?" she repeated, then looked at me as if I could not possibly know a member of the aristocracy. Sometimes I wondered if she too, knew that my past included an opera house and a soprano. Maybe she didn't read the papers. Maybe she didn't give a damn.

"Yes," I said, rather brusquely. "Bring him into the library-"

"Which one?"

"The one in the tower. When he arrives..."

"I believe I hear him now, sir," she said softly.

I listened intently, and did indeed hear the clipping of hooves. "Then I will wait for him there. And wait outside for me to tell you when Mademoiselle Chartraine may enter."

"What of Madame Novelli?"

I bit back a reply that she remain in her room. I didn't want to give de Chagny any doubts about the welfare of either one of them. Likely when she left she would go straight to him, and possibly take over the position of governess for his son. I didn't examine my feelings too deeply on that matter, but I knew instinctively I would be against it.

"She may come," I sighed. "And remember to give my note and the map to the gardener."

"Of course, Monsieur," she said, then began to look very much the stern housekeeper as she sailed past me to answer the door. I would have chuckled at the look of self importance on her face if I had not been determined to be safely behind my desk when de Chagny arrived.

And then he did, and I breathed a sigh of relief that he was better kempt and brighter eyed than last time I had seen him. I wanted to see no more tears from him, nor see the thinly veiled pain that had consumed him last time. I wanted nothing from him, most certainly not apologies for his guilty conscience.

"Erik."

"de Chagny," I greeted him stiffly. Was this the way all mortal enemies were to meet? Funny, now that Christine was gone, he no longer felt that way to me. I didn't know what I felt for him. After our last meeting, it was mostly pity, but he would never know that.

"Where is Charlotte?" he asked, moving out of the doorway to make room for a rather large young woman who I assumed to be the wet nurse, as she was carrying a bundle of blue cloth.

"Upstairs, with her doting governess." I moved forward slowly, keeping an eye on de Chagny and approaching the child. I wasn't sure why I had grown suddenly curious about him, but I wanted to see the boy who was a brother to my daughter. One glance at the woman revealed her eyes wide with apprehension as she stared at my mask. "May I?"

I asked Raoul, but the woman agreed, practically shoving the child into my arms and stepping behind Raoul.

A pair of blue eyes stared up at me, a picture of innocence and quiet acceptance at his fate of being held by me. Whether or not he could understand that I was different was a mystery, but he clearly had his father's features. And it was highly unnerving to see that, so I passed him back to the woman with great care.

"So...," he said, and I noticed he had cropped off his hair. It made him look older and more mature. Less like a dandy, and a little more like a man.

"Charlotte will be down directly. I wanted to discuss a few things with you first."

I offered him a chair across from me, which clearly surprised him. My civil manner had been decided upon when I had agreed to break into the hospital and free Rebbecca Clarke. Along with that sick feeling I had about going there at all, I also had great unease about taking Evangeline and being able to convey two females back to the estate.

"I'm listening," he replied, wariness in his expression.

The governess scuttled around the room until she found quite possibly the furthest chair from me she could find. I wished I had worn the half mask so I could smirk at them both.

"You will only have one hour today."

"An hour?" he repeated, his face darkening. "An hour is all you give me?"

"I was told an hour was all you ever spent with her per day before." I shrugged slightly. "We will see how today's meeting goes to determine when or if you may visit again."

His eyes turned cold, and he swore at me. "One hour per day was never my intention," he protested hotly. "That was her mother's wish, not mine."

I grew perfectly still, my eyes sharpened to razors as well. "What do you mean?"

A smug smile crossed his face. "Perhaps I shall not tell you. If all you will give me is one hour."

"Perhaps I will stretch your neck, until you gladly tell me everything," I said in a low voice.

"Try it," he whispered, and caressed the front of his coat, indicating he had concealed something there.

I longed to just then, and stamped it down. I was too old to be fighting constantly with one man. Too old to hate him for the rest of my life, although I would probably do so anyway.

"If something should ever happen to me, then I want Charlotte to be raised with her brother," I said, sounding thoroughly bored so he would not think he had frightened me. He had not, of course, but I did not want to force a change of subject and have him think it was because he was armed.

And my response could not have surprised him more. I had not said I wanted her to be raised by him. If an hour per day was all he ever spent with his children, Christine's orders or not, then truly they would not be raised by him. I would not have said it anyway, purely for spite.

"What should happen to you?" he asked, sounding very eager.

"If something should," I said, frowning at him. "Do not get so excited, my health is perfectly fine."

He sat back, disappointment evident in his eyes. "I would be more than happy to take her back." With me now, he added, but silently. I heard his words nonetheless, and glared at him.

"Did you name him?" I asked, looking over to the child and woman holding him.

"Yes. I named him James, for my father's father."

"Very well. Then as long as you can keep your act together, I see no reason for us to continue speaking. Remember...she is no longer going by your name."

He nodded, his eyes flickering away from mine for the first time. I summoned Madame du Brul, and Raoul and I stared at one another uncomfortably while she went to retrieve Charlotte and Evangeline.

"Your house is very nice," he commented, looking around the library. "Not what I expected to find...although my footmen described it. Somehow I didn't think it would be this..."

"Extravagant?" I offered, feeling a streak of pride and love for my home. "Much different from my last living quarters, yes."

"They're considering a complete renovation," Raoul said quietly. "Full scale replication."

"Really?" I had heard nothing of the theater. Of course as patron, he might be privy to inside information, where before I had learned everything through the walls. "How quaint."

A smile crossed his lips, "Yes. Peculiar."

Any reply I might have made was halted as we heard Charlotte screaming from outside. She screamed, and shrieked, and did not stop until she had successfully caused her brother to wail, my heart to pound, and Raoul to spin in his seat and leave his back unprotected to me.

"_Papa!_"

My heart died as she launched herself at him, and he stood to spin her in a full circle, again turning his back as they embraced. Unfortunately that gave me a clear view of Charlotte's face, and it was one of such blissfulness that I clenched my hands to keep from snatching her from his arms.

"I missed you," she whispered, at a much safer pitch to my ears. "I've missed you, so very much."

She began to cry, and I finally turned away, unable to bear the sight of them together. It hurt, as I had known it would. And yet, I had not pictured such a distraught reaction from her. Raoul cried as well, although he hid it better than she did, and I suspected she cried as much for Christine as she did for him.

Evangeline entered the room, looking highly flustered and dismayed to find the two of them together. She looked at me helplessly and with great pity, but said nothing and took a seat next to the wet nurse to examine the newborn.

"So precious," I heard her whisper, then another equally feminine sound when she was told his name, and something he had done just a few days before.

Evangeline held him, and I found it much easier to watch the two of them, than look at my daughter in Raoul's arms. It felt like Christine in the oddest way, and I suddenly regretted talking to him at all prior to their meeting. I would have had a better gauge on my feelings, and known whether or not I wanted to tell him what I intended if I died, or have a missive sent.

"Papa," I heard Charlotte say, and I closed my eyes and flinched. "Papa? _Papa!"_

I realized distantly she was speaking to me, and I turned and looked at her. "Yes, Charlotte?"

"Thank you."

She hugged Raoul tighter, and I felt all of my frustrations begin to ease. I had forgotten for a moment how young she was. How confused she must be by all of this.

I cleared my throat, meeting Raoul's eyes briefly as he half turned to me. "You're welcome, Charlotte."


	31. Given Names

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

_Eva_

There had never been a moment in my life when I wanted to hug someone more. I would have embraced both men, and little Charlotte if I thought my actions would have been welcomed and understood. But I was only the governess, and I had to constantly remind myself of that. Especially in this house, where Erik spoke to me as if I were more of an equal than anything.

Oh, he had huffed and blustered before about my being his employee, but of late he had actually sounded interested in my life, as if we were equals. I found living in his house less constricting than in the de Chagny's, but there I'd had more time with Charlotte to myself. She had escaped me somewhere between the stairs and her room, managing to slip from my grasp and behave very unladylike as she ran straight to Raoul. I knew Erik had been disappointed at how she addressed the other man, but she was only a child.

If only he knew how much I wished she would call me...or could call me something other than Eva. As much as my mind had already been warped, that had been something that thankfully never happened. I wasn't sure if my heart could have taken it if she had.

I held little James now, and it didn't feel nearly half as bittersweet as holding Charlotte the first time had. He was going to be a perfect imitation of his father, just as Charlotte was going to be of Christine. Hopefully somewhere along the way I could teach her how to be a little more giving and pleasant than her mother, and I believed having a brother to contend with over affection would be something she needed, so she wouldn't become too spoiled.

Raoul and Charlotte moved to the stairs, and he sank down on the dark polished wood, listening intently to every word she had about her time here. Thankfully it was all pleasant, and he even managed to smile some at the antics of her pets and the image of Erik tumbling into a lake, although she didn't say she had not witnessed it herself.

Erik was completely silent, and eventually sank down onto a couch to watch them with a saturnine set to his jawline, and an empty look in his eyes. Feeling sorry for him, I took James and sat down beside him, watching his mouth tighten even more as he slid a glance at the child from the corner of his eye.

"Have you seen him?" I asked, offering the boy to him.

"I have," he muttered, looking back at Raoul and Charlotte.

"Would you like to hold him?"

At my words, Raoul lifted his head and stared at us both, an expression of wariness in his eyes. Erik shook his head, claiming to have already done so. I couldn't believe that Raoul was really allowing Erik this close to his son, but perhaps father and son had yet to bond, or perhaps Raoul really didn't believe that Erik would harm him after all. It would have been juvenile for them both to argue over such a matter, which was part of the reason I had moved over to sit beside Erik.

"Charlotte is very young," I said softly, watching as the girl scrambled closer to Raoul and buried her face against his neck. "She will sort this all out when she's a little older, you know."

"Will she?" he asked, almost sounding accusing. "And what conclusion will she come to, Madame Novelli?"

I thought about it for several moments, considering several things to say and discarding them all but one. "That you are her father," I said gently, "but she is very lucky to have two men who love her and will always protect her."

He looked cold, distant, and unbelieving. I couldn't imagine why he didn't want Raoul to love her, then berate him in the next instant for not being around when she needed him.

"There is room in her heart for more than one person, Monsieur. Just as there is room in yours, and Raoul's, and even mine. She will be a better person for having both of you," I continued, and held up the infant as proof. "And she will be a better sibling to this boy, if she knows that she is loved just as much as he is. My parents were good to both me and my sister."

"Madame Novelli?" He sounded churlish, and looked at me grimly.

"Yes?"

"Go sit beside the other governess, please."

His words stung. I did as he asked, feeling him watching me long after I sat down and concentrated on not crying and looking at the silent child who nearly slept in my arms. Why had I thought any differently with him? He had put me in my place, and I knew it was because I pushed too far. Tried too hard, but truly it had been in his best interests that I had offered my opinion. In Charlotte's as well. I just couldn't help it where they were both concerned, and I had been sharply reminded that my duties only extended into Charlotte's welfare, and not his.

"What's it like?"

"Excuse me?"

The other governess, a buxom mousy haired woman leaned closer and whispered in my ear, "What's it like, working for that man?"

I stared at her, and knew Erik was listening. "He's perfectly boring, I assure you. I find myself nodding off each time he opens his mouth."

"Oh." She sat back, obviously in great disappointment that I had not said he chased me around the house with a baton in one hand, and a pair of leg shackles in the other. "Why does he...?" She stopped and paled when Erik turned and looked at her, displeasure in the depths of his green eyes. I felt the chill of his gaze, though it didn't land on me.

"Why don't you ask him?" I suggested baldly, and then watched her white face turn red.

She was disinclined to speak to me again, and Erik's eyes moved over to mine, changing from cold to hot in an instant. I melted under his bold stare, his thorough assessment of me, and his eyes slid to my breasts automatically, though whether it was on me or the child I didn't know.

"Papa?"

We both nearly jumped as Charlotte called to Erik, and watched as she slid from Raoul's embrace and up into Erik's. He closed his eyes and pulled her close, pressing a gentle kiss to her head.

"Yes?"

"May I take...," she stopped, and looked at both of the men.

"Take him where?" Erik supplied helpfully.

"To see Carlos? And Gertrude...and-"

"Oscar and Chester?" Erik asked dryly.

Charlotte nodded eagerly, her smile growing. "Please?"

He studied her carefully, and I knew what he really wanted was to keep her confined to the library with him. Eventually he nodded, though he did not release her immediately.

"Perhaps Madame Novelli may accompany you, so that you remember everywhere you would like to show him," he finally said, and accepted another hug from his daughter.

"Come, Eva," Charlotte piped up as she slid from his lap.

I followed her to the doorway, with Raoul trailing behind the wet nurse. Before I made it I looked over to see Erik, heading with determination to the spiral staircase.

And I knew he would be there before we ever arrived.

- -

"Your bedroom first, Charlotte," I said gently, still cradling James in my arms. As long as the wet nurse didn't mind, and Raoul didn't mind, I was going to hold him until they were gone for the day. Charlotte had not really noticed the child, although she had looked at me curiously for a moment when I had taken him in my arms. I suspected that the impact of his existence was lost on her for the moment, as Raoul could provide her with more attention than the newborn, who had likely taken much of hers away.

"Okay," she said, charming us with a bright smile. She raced ahead of us, while we all traveled at a more sedate pace upstairs.

Raoul glanced around as he sidled up to me, then asked if everything was going well.

I shrugged. "Things are fine, Monsieur."

"Are you very sure, Madame Novelli?" he asked persistently. Worry clouded his eyes, and I knew he was being quite sincere.

I was glad that he seemed to have gotten a grip on his grief and on his guilt. His shorter hair made him look more handsome, and I thought he looked much better without all the fuss of his usual attire. He was somber today, almost wearing as much black as his nemesis, although he wore a dark blue waistcoat and matching cravat.

"Things are fine," I repeated firmly. "Charlotte has adjusted to her life here, and is very happy."

"And you?"

"I...I feel safe here," I said softly, meaning every word. "It is peaceful and beautiful, and I believe I will be happy here as well."

I wasn't sure if Erik was listening to me, or if he had went directly to Charlotte's room. I had no way of knowing where he was, but I was being honest, and I truly hoped he heard my words.

"Safe?" Raoul repeated, a bit of mockery in his tone.

At my disapproving glance he said nothing more in that regard.

"I found your warnings to be unnecessary, Monsieur," I said, giving him a meaningful glance. I had decided I did not believe his biased opinions about Erik. Not that I believed he intentionally lied, but I knew now that much of their discord was not personal. It involved Christine, and I didn't think anything honest had come out of that particular mess.

"Did you? I truly hope so," he answered, pausing in the hallway. "But forgive me if I remind you of them anyway."

"It isn't necessary." I looked at him directly, and spoke with stubborn tenacity. "I have my own opinion of the man, and I don't want yours."

He raised his eyebrows in surprise. I had never spoken to him so bluntly before, but since I was no longer his employee it didn't matter. Not to me, and if it bothered him I truly wasn't concerned.

"You feel...loyalty to him, Eva?" he asked, a hint of concern in his tone. I wasn't sure if loyalty was what he implied, but I got the message.

"I feel loyal to Charlotte, and what's best for her." I looked at him sternly, as if I would ever consider sleeping with my employer. "And I believe he will be a good father."

And most importantly I thought they needed one another equally. Charlotte, like so many other aristocratic children, had felt stifled in their household, and Erik simply needed someone.

Raoul said nothing, a scowl crossing his features. Why he wanted and expected Erik to fail was not lost on me, but I turned away before he could try and sway me, my stride carrying me to the sounds of Charlotte scrambling frantically around her room, trying to get her dog and cats to sit picture perfect at the foot of her bed.

"Charlotte," I said gently as Raoul came into the room. "Isn't there something you want to ask Monsieur de Chagny?"

I prompted her again in her ear when she looked at me in bafflement.

"Remember, if he allows you to do so, it is an honor," I reminded her.

She nodded and turned to face him. "May I call you by your name?" she asked, far too young to realize the importance of her question.

He breathed deeply, hurt crossing his features and he gave me a look that spoke of the betrayal he felt.

"You may call me whatever you wish," he said, hiding his insolence with a gentle smile.

"Yes, but may I call you by your name?"

"Yes, Lotte. You may call me by my given name," he replied woodenly. It pained him deeply to lose his title, and he grasped at the straw of hope one last time by lifting her into his arms.

Charlotte frowned, and looked at him with narrowed eyes. "What is your name?"

I saw his lips tremble a little, and he pressed a kiss to her cheek.

"My name is Raoul," he whispered.


	32. We have to go in there?

Disclaimer I do not own Phantom of the Opera

_Erik_

By two I didn't have to worry about how I would spy on the two of them in the hothouse. The gray clouds that I had been watching with one eye began to pour their rain from a bleak sky, and all plans of seeing Carlos were canceled. Unfortunately that led to Raoul staying an extra half hour, which I allowed to appease Charlotte more than him, and then he had the audacity to ask permission from _my_ daughter to visit again.

How could I have refused? Especially when those brown eyes had implored me to allow him to come _live_ with _us. _If that had not humiliated him, then he had been informed that next time he could come and play dominoes with me, then with her.

His only consolation of the day was that he had retained the title, 'Papa', which was followed by a subsequent 'Raoul'. And finally Papa Raoul took his leave, so that I could pack a light parcel I would use to carry with me later. Evangeline was pacing nervously at the foot of the stairs when I dropped my leather pouch next to the door, looking at me with such worry in her eyes I longed to touch her arm or hand in comfort.

Irritated that I felt that need, especially with the way she had talked to me today, I snapped at her. "What the devil's wrong with you? I told you to be upstairs resting!"

"What's wrong with me?_ What's wrong with me?"_

"There is no need for your shrieking. My hearing is perfect!"

She took a breath and snatched my front doors open, "Have you looked outside recently?"

I did so, watching the sheer torrent wreaking havoc on the trees and parched earth. The wind blew so strongly that every single tree was swaying, and it sounded as if a train were whistling outside.

"Yes, it's called rain, Madame. There's no need for you to get into a snit over it," I said mildly.

"A snit?" she repeated, huffing at me.

"I suggest you calm down, and stop fretting. It does neither of us any good. We're still going tonight," I said firmly. "We aren't scaling walls or rappelling from a rooftop. We'll be in a tunnel, and it shouldn't be so difficult to navigate, or be filled with water just yet. Now close the damned door!"

"Oh."

She closed my door far more gently than she had opened it, and glanced down at the leather kit I had tossed on the floor.

"A lock pick kit," I told her, a hint of a smile on my face. "And some rope; a few other necessities."

Evangeline began to look nervous again. "We're really going to do this, aren't we?" she whispered.

"I'm going to do it," I said patiently. "You're going to help your sister into some dry clothes. I have no desire to fight with a woman I don't know about her clothing, but she'd likely freeze to death before we made it back here."

"Can't we just use the carriage?" she asked softly.

"If we need it, we will use it. But I really have no desire to go above ground, except for when I take her," I replied, watching her face turn bloodless again. "Madame, I have not lived all these years by making mistakes. I tend to make very few...and I have never been caught."

"How comforting," she murmured, shaking her head slightly.

"Then you may stay here," I offered, and she raised her eyes to the ceiling. I studied the column of her neck, and the sharp angle of her chin, thinking how much better she would look if she allowed her hair to be let down.

"No," she whispered. "No, I need to go with you. To ensure you come back."

I gave a harsh laugh, hiding the ache her words brought. It was not the first time she had spoken of needing me to be safe...to come back alive. It was hard to listen to those words, because I knew she meant them for Charlotte's sake, not mine.

"Well, as touched as I am for your concern," I said sarcastically, "I really can take care of myself. And as far as you being helpful even if I did run into trouble, I really find that risible scenario entertaining."

She planted her hands upon her hips, huffing at me like a wild, red headed virago. "Let me tell you something, Monsieur," she bit off, "if I did find you in trouble, Oh, so High and Mighty, I would leave you there!"

I grunted and shrugged my shoulder. "That I never doubted."

She sighed in exasperation, and apologized. "Where is your map of the city?"

"In the library, on my desk," I replied, wondering what she would possibly want it for.

"Very well. I'm going to take it upstairs with me, and study it at leisure while I _rest_," she said, then sailed out of the room with her nose in the air.

"Haughty wench," I muttered beneath my breath, feeling a hunger for her that I had not known was possible. She fought with me, and was spirited and beautiful. The first person who was never cowed by me, and did not mind me knowing she was mad at me for something. And honestly it was fun to irritate her, and watch her face flame just as much as her hair. I took a deep breath, smelling the fragrant jasmine soap that I was coming to recognize her by, feeling a tightness in my chest suddenly as I realized she would be gone soon.

And I swore violently beneath my breath, realizing that now I really didn't want her to leave at all.

- -

I had Madame du Brul send their supper up to them in their rooms, and I stopped by and watched Charlotte afterwards as she played while Evangeline began getting ready for our outing. It was still pounding rain outside, which worried me some, but not to the extent that I would cancel. It would take awhile yet for the tunnels to fill with water, and the ones we would be going into were not going to have water in them anyway. Not for the most part, because they were abandoned lines, like the ones I had lived in as a child. And the ones close to the hospital would be older as well, although there was an alternate route that could take us into the more modern sewer system.

We wouldn't be going that way, and I only hoped Evangeline remembered what I said about keeping quiet.

"It's quite cold outside, isn't it, Papa?" Charlotte murmured, sitting on the floor with her dog and cats.

"Yes, it really is," I said, shivering violently to make her laugh. "Which is why you shall be in bed, warm and dry."

"And you, and Eva too," she said sternly.

I nodded. Yes, at some point we would make it to bed, just probably not tonight. It would be well after midnight before we made it home, and that was provided we didn't have any complications. Madame du Brul was instructed, much to her bewilderment, to remain awake and alternate between the door and Charlotte's room. Either she would be assisting Charlotte, or she would be helping us. Either way she had many stairs to climb.

I told her if she did well enough, she would get a raise – she agreed without question to my demands.

"May I sit on your lap?" Charlotte inquired, not looking up as I lifted her into my arms.

"Your wish is my command, Mademoiselle," I said gallantly.

She sat back against my chest, her legs dangling over my knees and sighed. I had no idea what had brought on this sudden need for my affection, but I was not going to question it. We merely sat there for what felt like hours until Evangeline peered inside at us, watching from the doorway in silence.

"Is it time?" I finally asked, and she shook her head a little.

"A half hour," she whispered.

"Time for what?" Charlotte asked, turning to look at Evangeline.

"For bed," I answered, and swooped her up, smiling as she laughed with delight. I bounced her on the mattress a few times then tucked her in tightly, pressing a kiss to her cheek, and allowing her to pull me down for my own before she shoved her arms beneath the blankets.

I took one last look at her and left, my heart calm only because I knew at least she would be safe. And after tonight no one at Salpetriere would know her name, or maybe even Christine's name.

That was if everything went according to plan.

"Ready?" Evangeline asked, stepping out of the door into the hallway, wearing the required woolen dress and heavy cloak. She clutched a bundle of things in her hands, which I took to be the clothing for Rebbecca.

"Do you need more time? We still have fifteen minutes until I planned to leave."

She shook her head a little and let out a sigh. "No, I just want to get this over with."

"Fine. Then follow me," I said softly, and went downstairs to retrieve my pouch and my own cloak. I had left her letter locked in the library. Should I be so unfortunate to die tonight, at least she would know what I had made her promise me. Madame du Brul looked at us as if we were mad, but said nothing as we stepped out into the dark, stormy night. The wind howled mercilessly, and the rain beat upon our cloaked heads, telling us that we really ought not be going anywhere. I led her to a gap in the stone wall that was covered in hedge and stepped through, turning back when she made a sound of dismay.

"Wait," she said, sounding breathless. "We have to go in there?"

She was pointing to the forest, and I nodded. "Yes. That isn't the worst place we will have to go."

"I hate nature," she muttered. "Isn't there another path?"

"No." She looked truly concerned, and I sighed. "Madame, your sister will be grateful if you could just come with me."

Without another word she took a step beyond the hedge, and soon the light from my home disappeared entirely.

"What is that?" she whispered, pointing to the numerous branches above our heads. They obliterated all light, even in daylight. Walking through my forest was like walking through a jungle, and I had planted things deliberately before construction of my home began, allowing them to take over the canopy of the trees.

"A mixture of wisteria, honeysuckle, and ivy," I said softly. "Quite harmless, I assure you."

"No wild animals?" she whispered again, and I could only hope she kept that tone all evening if she insisted on talking.

"Perhaps you would like to go back," I offered, and probably not for the first time. "If you do not be quite, I will gag you, Madame."

I heard her scoff, say something about liking me to try, but she didn't complain any further.

The path led to a stone to what looked like a dovecote, although it had never been used for pigeons. Evangeline's eyes widened as I unlocked the heavy wooden door and led her inside.

"What is this?" she whispered, her breathing uncertain.

I lit a small lantern and held it up around the room for her to see. "A diversion, Madame. If anyone ever climbs in here, they won't be able to get out unless they go back through the tunnel."

"Tunnel?"

I set the light on the floor as I wrestled with the opening to the sewer. "The tunnel," I confirmed once I had managed to pull the thing free.

The sounds echoing inside the dovecote were tremendous, as water from distant tunnels made rushing noises that sounded imminently close and dangerous.

"We have to go in there?" she asked for the second time.

"Indeed we do, Madame, unless you would rather stay here."


	33. Tunnel

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

_Eva_

The noise was deafening. It became so loud inside the tunnel I could barely think, and I knew in a few moments Erik would leave me and go to find Rebbecca. Without thinking I reached out and grasped Erik's cloak. He stopped moving immediately, looking at me in question. Caught, I removed my hand and waited for him to begin moving again.

"Do you want to go back?" he asked, his voice sounding muffled with the roar inside the tunnel.

"Yes. No." I took a deep breath, indecision warring inside me. I wanted my sister, but the suddenness of our plans had left me feeling frightened. "Please, go on."

He looked at me carefully, and I clutched the bundle of clothing tighter in one arm. "If you're too scared, Evangeline-"

"Please, let's just do this," I said, closing my eyes at his condescending tone. Why was it so loud?

"The juncture of the tunnels," he explained, and I realized I had placed one hand over my ear. "The runoff from the streets is creating a waterfall. It's going to get much louder in a minute."

Why had it decided to rain? Things would have been much easier...my mind would have been more stable if I didn't have to listen to both the pounding in my head, and the clamor inside the tunnels.

"You'll be safe," he promised. "Come...we need to hurry."

Erik took my hand in his gloved one, and I wished I had thought to bring a pair of my own. Mine were freezing, and I didn't even own a pair like his. The wet leather eventually transferred his heat to mine, although it was only one hand of two that he could warm. He tugged me forward as he turned, not releasing me and I careened behind him, his long stride eating up the damp stone floor. We passed by what seemed like a hundred offshoots that looked narrower, darker, and more frightening. The dim light from his lantern did nothing to appease my mind. I could see nothing, and didn't know how he could either.

We walked forever. He never stopped. He never paused, he merely pulled me forward, his hand tight on my own, not allowing me a moments rest. I knew then what he meant about a map being inside his head, because he never hesitated once as he charged through those endless twists and turns he had talked about. At times I could tell that we were in an older part of some sewer line because of the smaller circumference, or the older stone versus concrete. And yes, it had to be sewer water that I smelled, although I had thought it was bad enough above ground. But below? I had to fight the urge to breath through my mouth, because I knew it would taste much worse than it smelled.

And the noise was getting louder. _Much louder. _I struggled to walk beside him to look, my hand still in his tight grip and I could see a gray green glow in the distance. His knowledge of this world was so much greater than mine, and he seemed perfectly at ease as he plowed down the tunnel towards it. I called to him, and realized he could not hear me.

"Erik!" I shouted his name, and he stopped again, shining the light at my face.

"Quiet." He mouthed the word, and released my hand to press a finger against his lips. He leaned close to me, speaking in normal tones that I could barely hear. "We're almost beneath the hospital. You must be silent."

He pulled me ten meters backwards, then cut the light out.

"Look up," he instructed, again close to my ear. I shivered as warm air caressed my skin, although his lips were really nowhere near me. I did as he asked, and could see light. Why had I never looked up? There was light, as plain as daylight, even in darkness.

"We're beneath a streetlight one block away from the hospital. The carriage is parked there, just in case you need it, and I loosened the grate already. Push straight up, and you'll be out. Look down there," he touched my chin for a moment, and forced my eyes to the grayish green light. "That is the juncture of the tunnels. That is where you will wait for me. Once we are there we are beneath the hospital, and you must be quiet."

I wanted to tell him how frightened I was, but I suspected that he knew. I felt him squeeze my shoulder, and realized we were standing very close together.

"You'll be safe, won't you?" I demanded. I was not myself, frightened and wanting to feel brave but not brave enough to venture another step inside the tunnel. Maybe he could forgive me in the morning, if we made it out of here tonight...

I touched his face. I touched half the mask, and half his jaw, and did so with both my hands clasped around him. He dropped the lantern in surprise, and I heard it clank against the stone floor. I had dropped the bundle, and for some reason I thought that I hoped that nothing had broken, or nothing had become wet. I don't know how I thought of anything, because all I could feel was him. We were so close I could feel our bodies touching, but through the thickness of each of our garments I did not feel his heat. I could feel his breath hit my lips, and my nose, caressing my face in a way I suspected he never would.

Erik reached up and touched my hands, gripping them in his.

"You're very cold," he said, his voice sounding strange and deep. Husky.

He pulled my hands down, my fingers trailing away from his jaw and to his lips. He cupped his hands around mine and exhaled hot air over them, releasing his heat onto my chilled flesh. I could see his eyes glittering in the faint light that came from overhead. Orange light, that seemed to cast us both in some sort of beautiful ray. I thought I felt his lips brush over my knuckles, and saw the intense hunger in his eyes that he had kept hidden from me. I saw what he wanted, desire making his lips fuller, and another sharp exhale covered my hands, this time involuntary and purely sexual.

I swore he would kiss me. I felt him lean forward...and I leaned, but when his eyes shifted to my mouth then back to my eyes – he abruptly pulled back and dropped my hands.

He frowned mightily, then stooped down to retrieve the lantern, handing me my bundle as he examined the light source.

"Broken," I heard him say dimly, but I was so breathless I could say or do nothing. "Let's go."

He didn't touch me again and stalked off towards the green light, blocking it with his large form. I raced after him, stumbling and kicking the useless lantern that he again dropped. I didn't know what to say, and for once was thankful for the roar inside the tunnel.

Somehow it seemed tame to the one in my heart.

- -

The crossroads of seven tunnels was astounding. Seven tunnels, all joining at one circular place, empty gaping maws that seemed to want to swallow us whole. Eerie green light and rain spilled through a large drain grate in the center of the spherical room, making it look as if we were about to cross into some unknown dimension. Erik stood beside me, breathing harshly from his reckless flight down the tunnel, and I stared at the drop more than six feet below that was a raging maelstrom of water. The noise was caused by the drop of water from three smaller holes in the side of the stone walls, gushing out at such a force it looked as if it might hurt if you were to wander beneath it.

"You're to wait here," he said, loud enough that I heard him. He held a finger across his lips again, then appeared to step off the edge of the world in a swirl of black cloak.

I rushed forward, thinking he had fallen, but he was standing below me on a ledge, gripping iron rungs as he navigated his way down to the water. He meant to cross _that? _I watched as he dropped down, the water reaching his waist and I relaxed as I saw that it wasn't that deep. Even standing in the center, it wasn't deep on him.

Erik continued onward, heading to a tunnel across and to the right of the one I stood in. I held my breath until he had gracefully swung up into the hole, his movements swift and sure. He stopped, crouched down as he stared across at me. I gave a little wave; he nodded...then he was gone.


	34. A Mystery Woman

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

I fled, eager to be away from her further. The only comfort I had in the knowledge that she would be gone soon was that I would never know. Never know what she felt like. Tasted like. Then I would not have to remember her for the rest of my life. Instead I would only wonder, and somehow that seemed so much better than a memory. I had memories of Christine, none of them pleasant. So unpleasant in fact that I had never once fantasized about her. I had wanted to...wanted to picture her as warm and giving...full of as much passion when she made love to me as when she sang. In the end all I could see was her lying beneath me, as beautiful as ever and so cold it was as if she were a corpse. It was her face that withered my soul...her eyes that lacked all that I had ever wanted to see. She had not loved me. She had pitied me...and felt it all the more while I took what was never mine, and gave her something I should have always possessed. I was devastated that I would never have the chance to make her love me, and furious that I would never see her with Charlotte.

I had never been able to believe my own fantasy...the reason for the postcards was that I could imagine another woman...any woman. So long as she wasn't Christine, and didn't resemble her in any way. If I ever wanted to suppress my desires for Evangeline, all I had to do was remember what I had done with Christine. It was enough to stifle even the most urgent of my moods.

The cold of the tunnels helped, and I trudged along the dark path, knowing by heart every single tunnel, stone, and every single escape hatch. I had walked these tunnels before. I knew them by heart...the light had never been for me. It had been for her, and she had made me drop the damned thing. My heart quickened again as I recalled what her hands had felt like against me. God help her if they had been warm. The iciness of them had saved her, providing me with some foolish distraction that I had held onto like a prayer. Then I had acted intelligently by blowing on them, my lips touching her skin and making me long for more.

It was nearly a five minute walk into the section of hospital where I thought they were keeping Rebbecca. I crouched below the office where the guards were sitting for ten minutes until I was sure they were both there and had no intention of leaving. They weren't as talkative as the other two and I suspected the new guy, Roiz, wasn't well liked by anyone anyway.

The showers thankfully didn't appear to be used, and that was to be my entry point. If they had made these poor women bathe, they would have died long ago because I doubted very seriously they possessed a boiler to warm their water. If starvation had not gotten to them, the cold would have.

Moving the shower grate was a slow and agonizing process. If I had been smart I would have shifted it during the day, but I had really not wanted to attract attention to it should someone be so industrious as to check something like that. It creaked and scratched slightly as I lifted it, but the screws had already been removed the day before, so I didn't have to deal with that at least. I stopped every time a noise was made and listened, but over the crying of some of the patients I could hear nothing else.

I moved up slowly, taking stock of my surroundings. I was in a large room that was filled with both metal tubs and hoses that I knew from personal experience could send water at you from a drum vat that was at best freezing, which was much better than being bathed in warm slime. Yes, cold slime is much better, I had always thought. I peered out into the hallway, the shower being at the end of it, and stared at the seven doors ahead of me. This was one of the smallest and definitely the most obscure building on the hospital property. And there were oubliettes as well as cells in this building that could fill with water when the river swelled, which then left nothing but a corpse and putrid smell.

I realized quickly they did not keep the women separate. I was dismayed by that, because it meant I would have to enter a room full of females, some of which really could be mad. Some of them could be frightened...some of them could take it into their heads to come at me, and none of my thoughts on how to deal with that situation was charming.

I found them all three doors down from the guards. The room wasn't locked, nor was it even shut properly, and as I stepped through I saw why.

They were all bound, arm and foot to the bed. At least I wouldn't have to worry about them attacking me. I dimmed the light from the lantern near the door and moved slowly through. Some of them were obviously not Rebbecca, and some of them I would need to take a closer look at. My mind struggled to match any of them to the girl in the miniature of Evangeline's, and they were all far much thinner than normal. Several cried, and cried louder as I walked between the aisle of their beds. I didn't think that would alert the guards, but I cringed inwardly at each plea for help.

Then I saw one that looked far worse than the others. In the far corner, she looked skeletal, her eyes closed and breathing so shallow I was uncertain whether she was alive or not. Her hair color was indeterminable, because it had fallen into an accumulation on her pillow, and was so thick with grease and filth that it looked black.

"Rebbecca?" I whispered, and touched her face. She didn't move, or even flinch at my touch. Her eyes certainly did not open, and I forced one lid open gently to see she had dark eyes, sunken into her skull.

I glanced at her neighbor, who had not made a noise nor moved since I had entered the room. She stared vacantly at the ceiling, and I looked up to see if something there had caught her fancy. There was nothing, and I sighed heavily.

"She's far too tired," the woman said, not moving her head at all. "One more should kill her...but perhaps that would be a blessing."

"Madame?"

"Monsieur," she replied contemptuously. "Leave her be. There's plenty of other girls here."

"Is this Rebbecca?" I asked, enormously relieved to find someone rational out of all these distraught women.

"Why should I tell you...and who are you anyway? You should not be in here," she said, her scolding tone making me smile, seeing as how she was bound to a bed quite helplessly.

"No, I most certainly should not. Is this Rebbecca Clarke, Madame?"

She turned her head to me finally, and stared into my eyes. "Why should I tell you anything?"

"Because Rebbecca's sister sent me here," I responded softly. "And I'm going to take her home."

"Home?" the woman whispered with such despair that I nearly sobbed, remembering how I had felt as a child in a place just as cold and lonely. "When do I get to go home? Will I ever go home?"

"Can you walk, Madame?" I asked, and immediately cut the ropes that dug into her flesh. She merely laid there, not moving until I pulled her upright. "Madame, can you walk...and be very quiet?"

She looked at me, complete disbelief on her face. Perhaps she thought I had merely been a dream, and she rubbed her wrist in pained wonder.

"Who are you?" she asked again, her face showing the first sign of an expression, and it was of fear.

"I am going to get you out of here," I answered, "if you can help me find Rebbecca Clarke."

"You found her," she whispered, looking at the woman behind me. "That's Rebbecca...or what's left of her."

I turned back to the small woman on the other bed, cutting the ropes and examining her quickly. She had bruises all over her arms, on her face, though they weren't deep. Likely it was more from lack of proper food than being beaten. I suspected if they beat her as she was, she would die from a single blow. She was wearing a thin shift, and nothing more. Nothing to protect her from the cold, save for a thin and very dirty blanket.

"May I have your blanket as well, Madame?" I asked, bundling up the waif like figure and lifting her from the bed. I covered Rebbecca as best I could, and turned back to the woman. "You may come with me, but you must be very quiet...do you understand?"

She didn't look very trusting, but she nodded.

"I would take you all if I could," I whispered, looking around the room with despair. The sounds tore at my heart, and if I had more time, and more help I could have taken all seven of them, instead of just two. As it was, I had trouble leading the woman down the hall to the shower. Her legs were unsteady beneath her from being tied so long, and she didn't have proper clothing or footwear on. It would be cold and miserable for her beneath the building, and as soon as I had set the still unconscious Rebbecca down, head first through the tunnel, then helped the now silent mystery woman through as well, I reset the grate and gave her my cloak.

"Thank you," she whispered, sounding uncertain of me, and still afraid, though she burrowed her nose against the warmth of the cloak. "It smells nice. I have forgotten what clean feels like."

"Come, Madame," I said urgently. "We have to be very quiet."

She said nothing, and nodded, pitching her thin neck backwards to look at the shower grate. I felt as if she were in shock, and I wondered how many times per day she imagined this particular thing happening to her.

"Come," I said again, and turned towards the still figure on the ground.

I lifted Rebbecca again, a weightless feather in my arms and began walking towards Evangeline...to freedom.

One part of my mission was nearly completed.

- -

You're all probably thrilled I updates so fast, so let me explain that these scenes have been written or partially written for many days now. I hope I am doing this story justice, but the escape from the hospital is anything but over. Thank you for reading!


	35. Parting

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

_Eva_

I wasn't sure how long he had been gone, but it felt like forever. I huddled against the wall for a moment, before I thought about what it was I had been leaning on. I had sprung away with a sound of disgust, then cringed as the cry echoed in the chamber. I had no light source, save the spectral glow that came from above me, shining through the center grate. I would have rather been plunged into absolute darkness than look through the chamber at that faint light.

The black shaft behind me brought me no more comfort, nor did the other holes in the side of the walls. I thought the rain must have been dying though, because there was not quite so much coming through the grate. Coming from the drainpipes was another story, and I could have sworn the water had risen some. I only hoped Erik made it before I found a reason to go mad.

I prayed fervently for his safe return, and that of Rebbecca. I would be devastated if my actions tonight resulted in her death – what he had said about her being kept on a yo – yo and being half starved then treated decently enough to keep her alive bothered me immensely. I knew much of the last few years had been like that for her, and I would truly her rather die free than spend another moment in that place.

But I wanted her alive and with me more than anything. I only hoped she had enough spirit left to fight for her life. Not like our mother, who had just given up. Not like Christine, who had accepted her death with such a calmness I wondered if she really had ever wanted to live.

When I heard a a noise, I crouched instinctively back into the darkness. If it was anyone other than Erik, I would be halfway up the tunnel shaft to the carriage before he made it into the water. A panicked thought entered my mind just then – what if someone had come up behind me? What other choice would I have had but to go into that cistern of freezing water?

I waited, my breath held until I could make out a tall form...but I panicked when I saw both a bundle in his arms and another figure behind him.

"Oh, God," I whispered, trembling with uncertainty.

I was already nervous enough...who had accompanied him?

He turned and lay his parcel down on the tunnel floor, speaking quietly with the figure who finally emerged from the darkness. It was a woman, I realized with relief...but not Rebbecca. That could only mean...

He dropped down on the ledge and drug the small bundle of blankets with him, and I saw a bare foot as the body dropped in his arms.

"Oh, God, please let her be alive," I pleaded softly, moving forward to the edge of the tunnel and watching as he slipped into the water.

It was higher, I saw immediately, reaching his mid chest now. He lifted his head towards me briefly, and I caught sight of a pale face, such foreign looking features I wondered if he had found the right woman. He held her up out of the water as he crossed, though the blankets she was wrapped in were not quite saved.

I turned towards the woman across from me, looking down at him with a blank expression. He had rescued another woman, I thought. My heart melted as he began climbing, taking such great care of the fragile shape that I thought he might be a saint.

"Catch her head," he instructed gently, shifting her body over his shoulders, then hoisting her legs and backside over the ledge. "Then pull her back underneath her arms – do it gently."

"Oh, Rebbecca," I whispered, crying instantly when her blankets fell open, revealing her abused body. "What did they do to you? Rebbecca?"

"She's unconscious," he said, meeting my eyes, a hardened look in his. "I...I don't know, Evangeline. Just get her into dry clothing. That is the best we can do. Now take her...I have to go back for the other."

I pulled her, stunned at how light she was. "You don't even weigh a hundredweight," I whispered, and tugged her back to the place I had laid the dress.

Erik was halfway across the water by the time I had pulled the filthy blankets from her, and removed the disgusting shift. I stared in horror at how thin she was. She had always been petite, but her body was so grotesquely small I couldn't see how she lived. Her breasts had shrunken more, a trait she had always considered to small to begin with. Her hipbones stuck out, and I could see every rib on her skeleton. Even her elbows and knees looked bonier than natural.

"You're going to get better," I said softly, seeing tears hit her naked flesh. I turned away, a sharp exhale and struggled to get control of myself. I had to get her dressed and out of this tunnel. I shook the dress out and lifted her small body, barely able to recognize her features. Her hair was nearly gone, and I touched her scalp to find that doing so caused more hair to fall out.

She fluttered her eyes for a moment as I pulled the dress over her head, and I hurriedly pulled it down past her hips after I laid her head back on the floor. The dress would hang off her, probably even would have if she had been her normal weight.

I was putting her shoes on when Erik hefted the other woman over the ledge just as he had done Rebbecca. This one however, was lively, and sprang up and moved out of his way as he came up behind her.

"How is she?" he asked, crouching down beside me.

"I don't know," I answered, not bothering to hide my tears. "My God...I am so stupid."

"Evangeline – "

"Monsieur, I..."

He patted my back awkwardly, "Finish with her shoes. I'm going to put you all in the carriage."

I sniffed, wishing he would have pulled me in his arms and told me the world was going to be fine. "Whose your friend?"

"I don't know. She was next to her...said she might like to come along," he said, and I knew he was looking at the other woman. "Are you well, Madame?"

"Fine," the woman whispered.

"We'll have you out of here soon enough," he promised, and I finished tying Rebbecca's shoes and pulled her dress down over her feet.

"Done?" he asked, and lifted her in his arms without waiting for my answer. "Remember to be quiet."

I turned to the other woman and offered her my hand, leading her behind Erik back to the escape hatch he had shown me earlier. He asked us both to hold her as he went up the hatch, lifting the covering with slowness, and peering around carefully for a moment. I heard the metal as it slid aside, then he dropped back down and took her over his shoulder.

"Ladies first," he drawled, and I let the unidentified woman climb out ahead of me.

I spotted the carriage instantly, and pointed towards it for her to go to. "Just get in, and don't say anything," I whispered, then turned back to help Erik with Rebbecca.

He sprung out, bracing his hands on either side of the hole and jumping to his feet. "Get in, get in," he said hurriedly, pulling Rebbecca back into his arms then laying her in the carriage. I started to get in, and he caught my hand. "I'll be back at the house later."

_"What?"_ I hissed, and heard the gardener shoot up from his perch, telling us both he'd been asleep.

"Keep your voice down," Erik growled, pulling me closer. "I said I'll be back later. Now get in, and get her home. My duty to you is fulfilled."

"Monsieur –"

"Evangeline, get in the carriage," he said, his voice dropping even lower.

"Please come with us," I whispered, startling him by clutching onto his arm.

I had finally been so relieved, seeing the carriage, and knowing the hospital was a block away. I could have danced a jig in the street. I could have shouted to the cloudy night. Now he was telling me he still intended to go back?

"Please, Monsieur, just come with us," I said, my voice growing harder. "We're free...we're so nearly free. Don't go back in there, please."

"I have to. If it's the last thing I do, my daughter will never see the inside of that place. Do you understand?" he asked, glancing behind me at the carriage for proof. "She's not ever going to know she was born there...she isn't going to know about Christine being there. Now go, before I make you go."

I felt as if my heart had dropped to my stomach again. He was leaving...and he had never discussed with me his plans for obtaining her consent form. He had asked where Victor's office was, and where the record room was. That meant a great deal more time in the open. A great deal more, and I couldn't possibly see how he expected to make it. He was already cold...freezing really...and he planned on spending another few hours snooping around, hoping to find the right office?

"Monsieur..."

He stopped me, laying a single, black gloved finger against my lips. "Goodbye, Evangeline."

His words made me shiver. They sounded so permanent...he sounded as if he actually meant them.

"I have fulfilled my part of the deal...if I should not make it, then there is a letter awaiting you in the library. But I have done my part no matter what the outcome...so goodbye."

I held my breath as he gazed into my eyes, his touch featherlight over my face. His kiss was even softer, so small, so delicate I scarcely felt it against my cheek. Why had he said goodbye like that? He had done nothing and said nothing to indicate he didn't think he would make it back from this. Not really...so why had he sounded so despairing, so bitter?

"And I'm sorry," he added, his lips still against my cheek. He pulled me close, his arms wrapping around my back, and I returned the embrace with bewilderment. What was he sorry for?

He turned his head, his hand catching my chin, and he kissed me with such force that I forgot to breathe. His lips were hard against mine, his tongue searching and seeking, one of his arms pulling me closer and closer, until there was no space left between us. I groaned, forgetting about my sister, and the audience we likely had, and kissed him back with equal violence and greed. He broke away for a moment, surprise evident in his eyes, and I pulled him back down to me and kissed him again, standing on my toes to give myself better access, to trace his lips with my tongue, and push through his lips to his own. I would have kissed him the rest of the night, had he not set me away from him with such a dark look of longing in his eyes I thought he might have led me off somewhere, rather than put me in the carriage as we parted ways.

"You must go," he said thickly, lowering his eyes to the ground. He wiped his mouth, as if to rid himself of the taste, and I touched mine to preserve the taste forever. "Go now."

"Erik..."

My saying his given name caused my stomach to tighten, and he closed his eyes, possessing my hand again and bringing it to his lips.

"Eva."

I shook with emotion as he kissed me again, then turned back to the hole in the middle of the street. He dropped through it without looking behind him, and slid the covering back on, concealing all evidence of our mischief.

"Madame, we need to go," I heard the woman whisper from the carriage. "Your sister..."

I felt my soul die a little as I climbed into the carriage, torn between following him and getting Rebbecca to safety. But she needed me far more right now...she might not even live through the night, although I could see she had been this way awhile.

"What is your name?" I asked the woman as the carriage lurched forward.

Her answer was a small shrug. "I don't remember anymore."


	36. A Grave Situation

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

_Erik_

I sank down to my knees, listening until the carriage had gone away. When it finally had, I allowed myself to breathe but a moment before I began to curse myself for my stupidity.

"You are a bloody idiot," I told myself, and proceeded to think up several vile names to associate with the idiot I had become. A fool, a damned fool. A bloody fool.

I was the king of fools, and whatever good sense I had left after I kissed her had vanished when she kissed me back.

Hadn't I just congratulated myself on _not _kissing her an hour before? Hadn't I said it would be best if I never did, then I would not have to suffer the memory of her taste? Because now I knew it would be with me forever. My second kiss, and it was so damned much better than the first I could have died happily in the street. Her taste, her smell, her touch. Her lips were a hundred times softer than they looked, and Lord only knew why she smelled so good after where she had been half the night.

I wasn't sure what possessed me up there. The combination of danger, which had clearly frightened her, and the way she had looked at me, such concern and sweet compassion in her eyes. For a moment I had let myself believe it was me she worried about, and not Charlotte. One brief moment afterwards I had savored the memory of her gift...then I had been reminded what reason she would have to kiss me back.

She must have thought I was sampling her wares. Preparing myself for a later treat...a feast, if I was going to be honest. If I had intended to have her make that promise...she would be a feast. She must have thought a lively performance would inspire me to make it back safely. If she only knew how distracted I was going to be tonight. Tomorrow. Maybe for the rest of my life.

"If you are not the stupidest man alive, then you are very close," I whispered, and groaned softly, remembering _her_ groan all too clearly. That soft sound would stay in my mind forever. No one had ever made that sound. Not Christine. No...definitely not her.

For a moment I considered just going home. I could come back another night and get those papers. I would wring them from Victor's bloody neck if necessary. Perhaps if I went home I might...

"Stop," I commanded myself, even as I tugged the pins from her red hair. "Stop it," I said again, pressing my mouth against her throat.

"Oh, God," I muttered, and finally thought all the way through it, not doing anything more than imagining myself completing the act with Evangeline and her glorious hair fanned over my arm. For some reason I imagined pinning her to a wall and having her legs wrapped around my hips. Yes...very nice. Very, very, very, _very_ nice...

I thought about it a second time, _very_ quickly, and was halfway through the third by the time I rose to my feet and started towards the tunnel juncture.

"You are a bloody idiot," I repeated, then for the first time I was grateful to have a large pool of putrid, icy water to jump into.

- -

I took the main sewer entrance and emerged in a holding area for raw excrement. Not the most exciting place I had ever been, and certainly not the cleanest. But it was not the sort of place one goes for a tryst, so I didn't worry about running into anyone. Especially not on this cold night. I had studied the map of the hospital, once a gunpowder factory, and intended to use the old passageways that they had used to transport saltpetre – hence the name of the hospital – to the refinery where it would be converted to a more stable compound to be mixed with sulfur and charcoal.

My destination was the admissions building, and I knew there should be very little patients in the entire building. Less patients meant less guards – what kind of lunatic would want to break into an asylum anyway?

I walked slowly, taking my time and stopping at regular intervals, absolutely amazed that someone had been nice enough to put arrows on each corner even this far away from the main part of the hospital. And when I saw the sign to admissions, I could have shouted for joy, had I not thought the sound would have brought absolute hell upon my head.

There were a set of stairs for service personnel, and I took it to the fourth floor of the building. All the way to the top, just as Evangeline said, and it was only there I had to put my locksmith abilities to work. It was absolutely amazing just how lax the facility was...and I suspected it was because it was for women. And they were probably all confined to their bed in a similar manner.

And imagine my surprise when I found the doors belonging to Victor Clarke...pushed them open...and found the man himself. Or I assumed so considering it was his office, and he was tall and thin.

Asleep, as casually as you please, with his arms around a woman less than half his age. She was also sleeping, and I stared at them on the floor for several minutes, wondering what the hell I was going to do now. At least they had been kind enough to redress, even if it wasn't quite all the way.

He murmured in his sleep, then rolled to his stomach.

"Thank you," I whispered to his sleeping form, able to decide then what I would do.

I slipped behind him and bound his feet, then slipped one knot around a wrist and tied that to his neck. When I let his arm drop, he gagged instantly, his head snatched upwards. I used that wonderful opportunity to gag him, then proceeded to do the same with the woman, although I merely bound her wrists behind her back.

And by the time I finished, they were still not quite aware of their surroundings. I rolled Victor to his side with my boot, and he met my eyes with bewilderment and fear.

"Arrgh," he told me, and I nodded.

"Hello, Dr. Clarke. Having a pleasant night?" I asked him.

The woman attempted to get to her feet, and I helped her, then pushed her gently into a chair. Her shift not quite covering what she wanted it to, she tried to hide her body from me and I tossed a blanket over her entire head.

"Be quiet, Madame. This doesn't concern you. And don't even think about leaving."

She stilled immediately, and I turned back to Dr. Clarke. "Well, Victor, are you having fun yet?"

He glared at me, and I helped him to his own chair, watching as he struggled against his bonds to no avail.

"Keep that up and you'll strangle yourself," I advised him. "And wouldn't that be the pity? To lose such a noble doctor? Such a paragon of good?"

He stopped moving, his icy blue eyes cold with fear, instead of malice. I wondered how Evangeline's sister had not noticed how cruel those eyes could be. I could picture his cold eyes watching as a patient struggled helplessly, much as I was doing to him now.

"I believe this is the first time we have met, doctor. I had the pleasure of meeting your wife earlier this evening." I smirked when his eyes widened. Obviously he only thought the mask was a way to hide my identity, not to cover up some freakish abnormality. "Don't worry, Evangeline will keep her safe. I imagine she's already in a bed, warm and dry, being tended to by an overly large German lady and a fussy housekeeper. Her bedmate too, although I never caught her name. Perhaps you could help me, if I were to remove your mouth stuffing? Of course, you must be quiet. We don't want any company do we?"

He told me what he wanted by squirming and kicking his feet, to which I responded by a light cuff against his head, then I showed him my impressive dagger.

"You're quite helpless, and really I have no problem slitting your throat. We'll get around to your welfare later though...this concerns someone else dear to me. And I'm going to remove this," I said, tapping on his lips with the blade of the knife. "And if you don't be quiet...I'll remove these." I indicated his lips, watching his face pale and sweat break out over him.

I tugged the mouthpiece out, and he merely flexed his jaw for several moments.

"You're crazy," he finally whispered.

"An expert, are you?" I asked sardonically. "Forgive me, but I prefer not to have my head examined. Now...I'm only going to ask nicely once. After that, well," I shrugged slightly, "then we shall have to see. Where is Christine de Chagny's record, and the consent form of her daughter?"

"_What?"_

He flinched as I cuffed him again, recoiling in terror.

"Do you think I'm a man to play games?" I demanded, my face mere inches from his. He was choking of his own accord, his eyes nearly bulging out of his head as he stared up at me. "Tell me where the record for Christine de Chagny, and the consent form for her daughter is located. If you don't, I'm going to cut your lips off. Then perhaps they'll be a bit looser."

"You'll never get away with this," he had the audacity to inform me.

"Yes I will," I promised. "I've already gotten away with taking your wife to safety. I have already heard enough about your little exchange of relatives for money...perhaps to pay off your gambling...and I do know that I will get away with killing you. That is unless you tell me where the records are."

"I...I don't know," he stammered.

"Oh, Victor, you'll have to do better than that."

"Really...I don't know. Alencon keeps a lock on anything considered closed, and Madame de Chagny's case was considered closed," he whispered pathetically. "I...I couldn't have gotten the consent form if I wanted it. I merely wanted to aggravate Eva."

"That was a mistake, good doctor," I said menacingly. "But fortunately for you I have a lock pick. So where are the records?"

"First floor," he whimpered.

I checked on the woman again, seeing she was still quite frightened. I tied her to the chair and tied the chair to the desk.

"You're on a short tether tonight, Madame, but if you stay here you will be safe. Do you understand?"

She nodded once, and I covered her back up with the blanket and locked her inside the room. Victor hobbled along in front of me, wearing only his trousers. I kept one hand on the arm that held his leash, tugging as a reminder every few steps to tell him I was not averse to killing him. The gag in his mouth did not ensure he would not make noise, but it would keep him from talking and whining more.

There was no one around on the first floor, and I wondered if perhaps the building was entirely abandoned during the night. Once we were in the record room, I removed his gag and asked him.

He stared at me, "The second and third floor is full of new patients. There are guards everywhere."

I stuffed the rag back into his mouth, "Find the damned record then, so I can leave."

He shuffled further into the room and indicated another locked door. A sign said the records were closed, to be opened only by the superintendent. I wondered why they would go through the trouble of having a woman sign a consent form, if they were going to close the record. And by the time I finally found the damned thing, which was an hour later thanks to some clerks mislabeling, I was furious.

Charlotte's consent form was not inside Christine's folder. Which meant hers was either in this mess somewhere, or still considered active.

I was advancing on him when I heard feet outside the door, and the handle turned. Victor leapt for the door, and I grabbed onto his rope, choking him back into the shadows of the filing cabinets.

"Anyone in here?" a male voice called out. Then a 'hmm' then the door closed.

"You stupid bastard, I swear I'm going to kill you for that," I growled against the back of his head. I tucked Christine's record beneath my arm and stood upright.

That was when I heard the shouts that someone had escaped, and then footsteps raced up the stairs past the record room.


	37. Just One Look

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

_Eva_

I forgot about everything as we followed the gardener with Rebbecca's prostrate body into the house. Madame du Brul was waiting with the door open, mouth agape as she took in the bedraggled figure in his arms, then the one behind him.

"Madame Novelli? What in the devil is going on?"

"Later, Madame," I said, and charged up the stairs to show the man where to put Rebbecca. Madame du Brul followed, as well as the woman who didn't remember her name. "I need you to have some broth brought up, and perhaps make up some bed warmers if you have them. And we'll need one more room prepared."

"Madame Novelli...," she began, and I faced her with my eyes flashing. I was distraught enough over this, and I really didn't have the time or energy to fight with her.

"Just do it!" I snapped, and turned back to open the doors for Rebbecca.

The gardener laid her on the bed and retreated instantly, the mystery woman loitering in the doorway completely unsure of what to do with herself.

"You may rest if you desire," I said softly.

"I've had plenty of rest," she answered. "I might like to eat though."

I glanced up to find her expression hopeful and sheepish, as if it embarrassed her to have to ask for something, and she was unsure whether or not she would get it.

"You may have anything you like," I said, giving her a forced smile. "This isn't my house, but I know the man who saved you would let you do as you please."

I gave her directions to the kitchen, and turned to light the room enough to see Rebbecca. She was so gaunt and pale I worried that she might stop breathing at any moment, and she had opened her eyes a few times in the carriage only to close them again. Clearly too weak even to question who we were or where she was going.

"Rebbecca...it's me," I said, and took her hand in mine. The first order after I had her warm enough and fed properly...perhaps tomorrow...would be a bath. Maybe by then she would have regained her senses, or merely her consciousness.

"How is she?" Madame du Brul asked, setting a bowl of beef broth on the table. "Who is she?"

"My sister. And I have no idea how she is."

She left the room and came back with latex bed warmers which she tucked around Rebbecca's feet and along side her ribs. She placed one directly on her chest, then left again and returned with a basin of water and clean clothes.

"Thank you, Madame," I said softly, and started wiping Rebbecca's face.

I couldn't help but cry as I did so, and washed her neck and her hands, grimacing as some of the dirt still stuck to her skin.

"Who is the other woman?" she finally asked.

"She doesn't know...neither do I. Neither did Monsieur Chartraine." I glanced up to find the older woman looking at me suspiciously. "Madame, it is perhaps best if you don't know anything about them."

"It doesn't take a genius to figure out what you were doing," she said, sniffing at me as if I were a worm. "Where is Monsieur Chartraine?"

"He went back," I replied, closing my eyes as I recalled what his lips had felt like against mine. "He said he would return later this evening."

"Madame, it is no longer evening, it is early morning. You two are truly mad," she muttered. "Kidnapping patients..._are you mad?"_

"Please help me feed her," I said impatiently, and moved the latex warmer from her chest. My hands shook as I lifted her small body and sat down behind her, reclining against the bed and allowing her weight to settle on me. Madame du Brul cupped her hand around Rebbecca's mouth and poured a bit of broth inside.

"Where did the other woman go?" I questioned, and she met my eyes.

"She's downstairs cooking. I hope she doesn't catch the kitchen on fire," she said, then repeated her ministrations with my sister. Her fingers poked gently through Rebbecca's dress and she gasped, "My God, when was the last time she was fed?"

"I don't know," I whispered, and wiped impatiently at my tears.

I was so stupid to think I had ever protected her. Erik had told me...but I had refused to believe at first that I had not bought her any sort of safety inside that place. Even with Victor inside there. What had I been thinking? That since he didn't care about her, he wouldn't notice if someone was spending a little more time with her? Feeding her a little more? Keeping other guards away from her?

I had met Tomas Costas before I had known what his occupation was. Before I had gotten pregnant even. He had been a very young protege of Zachary's, but he had injured his hand in a way that ensured he never fought again. When I had found out he had taken the position at the hospital I had been thrilled, and he had readily agreed to watch out for my sister, even going so far as to volunteer for a position that placed him directly under Victor's command.

Somehow his plans had gone awry. I wondered if Victor had something on him, or merely the bluff of a man in position and power. Tomas was awful young...but didn't he know Zachary would protect him from anything?

Madame du Brul stopped feeding Rebbecca when she began to cough, and I rubbed her back gently until she settled back down. Her eyes fluttered open for a moment, then closed again.

She mumbled something, so unintelligible and low I didn't even think she realized she said anything.

"Rebbecca, it's Eva," I whispered, and brushed my hand through her scraggly hair. I lay her back, allowing her head to rest on my shoulder and looked at her. Dark, thick circles were evident beneath her sunken eyes, her skin rough and chapped...she would hate her appearance if she was able to summon the strength to care. Maybe she was beyond caring at this point. Maybe she had given up hope long ago...I could only pray that there was some spirit left inside of her.

"Rebbecca, wake up. You're safe now," I murmured, stroking her cheek. "You're safe...you need to live. You're safe."

"Perhaps a little more, Madame, then we should let her rest."

I nodded and allowed her to feed her again, then settled her back against the bed. Madame du Brul placed the warmer back on her chest, and we left the room to check on the other woman.

"How is Charlotte?" I asked.

"Right as rain," she assured me. "She's fast asleep – has been the whole time."

"Good," I breathed. At least one of us tonight was going to see a bed. "Madame, I'm terribly sorry you've been up all night."

"He's offered to give me a raise," she said, and smiled slightly. "Only a fool would turn down an offer like that."

"Thank you for your help," I said, and she nodded.

"I hope your sister makes it," she said gently.

We found the woman cooking in the kitchen, sampling everything from various pots and pans, smiling happily to herself as she ate.

"OH...Try this," she instructed, and shoved a spoon beneath Madame du Brul's nose.

She gave me a wary look, then obeyed, nodding approvingly. Obviously she was of the mind that since we had taken this woman from an institution, then she must really be insane. Perhaps she was...time would only tell.

"Madame, do you remember your name yet?"

The woman smiled slightly and shook her head. "Call me what you will."

"Well, What You Will," Madame du Brul said, giving me a wry look, "there is a bed prepared for you when you are ready...and a bath."

"Oh, a bath!" she exclaimed, and set down her spoon. "Show me...show me, please."

They left, and I turned off the forgotten stove, sampling it and finding it really good. I had a suspicion that if Erik allowed the woman to stay, there was going to be fighting between the German woman named Hilda and the mystery woman.

I began worrying about him when I looked at the clock. It was nearly three. He should have been back...it shouldn't have taken so long. The storm had passed, the clouds gone and now it was merely fog that obscured the trees outside. Going into the forest terrified me. It had terrified me with Erik...it was unthinkable now. I stepped out the door and wrapped my cloak tighter around me, surprised to see the gardener still on the drive with the horse and carriage.

"Do you need to go somewhere?" he asked me.

"I...I don't know," I whispered. "Please...don't put it away just yet."

I ran back upstairs to check on Rebbecca, finding Madame du Brul sitting by her side and washing filth from her arms.

"She's warmer," she told me without looking up. "I think as long as we keep her warm and feed her, she should get her strength back."

"Madame, I'm worried about Monsieur Chartraine," I said softly.

"As you should be," she said, giving me an acerbic stare. "If something happens to him..."

Maybe it wouldn't hurt just to have him drive me by the hospital. Just to make sure everything was fine...maybe we would find Erik walking back. Maybe he would be here when we returned. The more I thought about it, the more I wanted to see him.

By the time three thirty neared, I had loaded myself into the carriage and ordered him to take me through Paris to the hospital.

Just one look wouldn't hurt.


	38. It

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

_Erik_

Once I had him in the tunnels I relaxed a little. Only a little, because I was still far from getting out of Salpetriere, and my plans for leaving him in his office with his lady friend had to be abandoned. Now what did I do with him? Guards had rushed upstairs and downstairs, then finally it seemed as if the entire admissions building had been forgotten as they began to canvass the area for two missing women. I knew my tunnels would be soon found out, and I could only hope to have him far enough from the hospital that I could leave him there, and he would be eventually found. Truthfully I didn't care if they found him or not. He could rot down here for all I cared, after what I had seen.

"Enjoying yourself, Dr. Clarke?" I asked snidely, seeing him shiver. "It isn't very comfortable down here is it? Perhaps I should throw you into the oubliette with a gag in your mouth. See how long it takes a rat to bite your flesh off."

He closed his eyes, and I turned away wondering how I could feel pity for this man. I didn't think I would kill him...but I could not summon the strength to care for his fate.

"You are a piece of garbage, do you know that? You'll be lucky if I let you live beyond this night."

"Urrr."

"You want to say something?" I asked, and he nodded. "Make any extra noise, and I'll silence you for good."

I stopped and pulled his gag free, waiting patiently until he had moistened his mouth.

"de Chagny," he whispered.

"What about him?" I asked, folding my arms over my chest.

"Did he send you?"

"Now why would a man with his title and power need to send someone on a mission like this? If he wanted her record, it was his for the asking," I said, giving him a scathing glance. "He didn't care enough to ask. No. I'm not here because of him. Not a great fan of him either."

"Zachary?" he asked, his eyes lowering to the floor. "He sent you to kill me, didn't he?"

"Wrong again, doctor," I responded, my interest in him suddenly piquing. "Why would Zachary want to kill you? Because of Evangeline?"

He hung his head. "I..."

"You don't have a lot of time," I reminded him, my tone filled with threat.

"He wants her back," he whispered. "He wants Evangeline back, and he thinks I have her."

"Fascinating."

"It's true," he protested, and I held up the rag to show him I would stuff his mouth again. He lowered his voice, "It's true. He thinks I have her here. I haven't left the hospital for months. I haven't been home in over two years."

"Poor little doctor," I said mockingly.

He shivered again, moving his bare feet on the stone floor in discomfort. "Please, Monsieur."

"Please, Monsieur," I mimicked him. "How many women have said that to you? How many helpless patients...how many, Dr. Clarke? A hundred? One thousand? Even one was too many, because you left them there!" I snarled, my voice filled with fury I could no longer leash. "You did that to your _wife_. Your _wife_, who was not insane – "

"She shot me!"

I stuffed the rag back into his mouth and slapped him, thoroughly irritated.

"If you were truly a man I would punch you," I said, then slapped him again. "But you aren't a man. You're a piece of garbage. Now get moving."

I shoved him hard between his shoulder blades, causing him to stumble to his knees in the tunnel. I tugged on the rope to his neck until he rose, then pushed him along the tunnel further. In the distance I could see the green glow of the central holding area. Victor must have thought it was his salvation, because he took off running towards it, and I did nothing to discourage him. I was ready to get out of the place. Ready, before I took it into my head to try and free everyone. This sort of perversion angered me to no end, and I felt helpless against the rage that threatened to overtake me if I did not forget what I had seen. And it was not caused solely by this man...not solely, because this sort of thing had been going on for ages. Since the beginning of time, and he was just one more person that didn't give a damn. One more person that found it easy to walk away, or to commit someone to a place like this and not feel anything when their victim was pleading for mercy.

Mercy! _Mercy!_

There had never been any mercy in Bicetre, and there wasn't going to be any in Salpetriere. One of the two people I had saved tonight might die, and the more I thought of it the more I wanted to turn back and leave Victor in the oubliette.

"_Urrr! Urrr!"_

Victor hobbled along, trying to run faster but the length of rope between his legs only allowed him so much room. I decided the juncture was as good of a place as any to leave him, but he never stopped when he reached the end of the tunnel. He jumped down into the pool of water, and I watched dispassionately as he lost his footing and went under. He only had one arm above the water...the other being tied to his neck behind his back.

I rather think I would have watched him drown, had I not seen a light coming behind me, and from one of the other tunnels – thankfully not the one I intended to go to. I crossed quickly, seeing Victor had managed to stand, but was on his toes in the water to keep it from going in his nose. The water had risen quite a bit...I swam across this time, then climbed up into the tunnel to take me home.

"Have a pleasant swim," I advised him.

He removed his gag and began screaming, then went under the water again.

I turned back around in time to hear the echo of a shot, and a resulting pain streak through my upper leg. Fear rolled through me. Fear, and panic, and I looked to see a young guard on the other side taking aim.

"Stop!" he shouted, and I fled along the tunnel, feeling a burning in my leg I had never known before.

I had never been shot before. It was not a pleasant feeling...being shot. I didn't bother checking to see how much blood I was losing. I knew it would be a lot, but I thought I could make it. I could see the escape hatch for Evangeline up ahead, and I knew beyond that there were a hundred options for me.

If I could just make it...

Another shot, and it ricocheted inside the tunnel, whizzing past me and sparking on the sides of the walls. Another shot, and it recoiled and landed in my arm.

I nearly made it to the escape shaft...and then a guard dropped in front of me.

"_What the hell?" _he shouted, drawing back in surprise.

The one behind me had a pistol. This one had a rifle, and he cracked the butt of it against my skull, knocking me backwards and to the ground. I slipped my knife from my waistband and sank it into his shoulder as he kicked me over and bent down over my body.

"You son of a bitch!" he yelled, then kicked me in the chin.

I saw the world go black...it was funny...I was already underground.

How could it get any darker?

- -

When I woke up, I was lying in the street outside the walls of the hospital entrance. I could hear them...talking...laughing. One quick assessment and I knew they had taken it. The mask was gone. The hairpiece was gone. I turned my face away from them, but I knew they had already seen it.

"You're sure he killed him?" One of them asked, and another responded that yes, I had killed Victor Clarke.

The knowledge that he was dead made me chuckle, though I spit out more blood than laughter.

"Hey, look. It's awake..."

It. I was an It? That didn't sound promising.

I felt a boot in my stomach, and a baton swing down across my back at the same time. A couple of well placed blows later, and I rolled over to face my attacker, who looked to be about fifteen years old. A guard, fifteen years old...what the hell sort of hospital was this?

"Do you think It's from Bicetre?"

I fought the tightness in my throat and focused instead on the pain. I didn't want to think about Charlotte. I would never see my daughter again. I refused to cry in front of these animals...I would die before one tear slipped free. I had failed. Failed...I had failed so horribly.

"Where else? But did you see that thing? Look at 'im, dressed in gentleman's clothes, all dressed up fancy! He musta taken those clothes from Dr. Clarke."

"It'd explain why he was nearly naked," another one snickered.

"Well then why did he have a naked woman in his office?" another protested.

Christ, how many of them were there? Pain shot through every part of me. My right arm and leg had been shot. My skull felt as if split open, and if they kicked me one more time–

They did, laughing like wild animals, and I swallowed the urge to vomit. Somehow I rose to my hands and knees, doubtless looking like a pathetic dog, only to be kicked over onto my side.

There were four of them, all quite young, all looking at me with equal expressions of horror.

"Is that all you have?" I taunted them, spitting blood onto the wet pavement. The closest one tried to kick me again, and I grabbed his foot with my good hand and sent him sprawling onto the street. His head cracked against the concrete, but all satisfaction I had was lost when one of them kicked me in the chest and sent me flying backwards. I would have risen, had they not kicked me in the leg that had been shot, and I finally screamed my agony as blinding pain splintered through me.

I knew I was going to die. I would never see Charlotte again. She would live without both of her parents forever, and de Chagny would get his wish. He would get my daughter...he would raise her.

Strangely I was consoled knowing she would be taken care of. He would protect Little Lotte. My Lotte.

"Go over to Bicetre and see if they're missing a prisoner. Put him in here till then," one of them said, then I heard him spit.

I glanced up and saw a prison transport cart, complete with bars and a locked gate. I also caught sight of that baton again – right before it came down on my head.


	39. Avenue of Despair

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

_Eva_

They kicked him again before they put him in the cart. Right in the stomach...they kicked him, with what looked like all of their might. I pressed my hand over my mouth, muffling my cry. When he had screamed, I was certain I had screamed as well. I made hollow, panicked sounds, ceasing only when the man who had driven me here leapt down and pressed his hand over my lips. But when they had lifted him I had scrambled from the carriage, knowing if they put him inside there I would never see him again.

They would take him to Bicetre, and Charlotte would never see her father again. I would never see him again.

"Madame, do not go over there," the gardener warned me. "They'll hurt you, Madame."

"They're going to kill him," I whispered, not taking my eyes from Erik.

When we had come upon them, four men savagely attacking a prostrate figure on the street, I had known. The carriage had halted, as if the driver too knew who was being beaten. From the dark shadows, we watched the cart that was beneath the streetlight. It was too far away to determine his injuries. Too far...but I knew he was hurt. Erik never would have taken a beating like that lying down.

I imagined he would have gone out swinging...perhaps he was already dead.

"I have to...," I started forward, and he pulled me back.

"No!"

"L-let me go!" I stammered, my hysteria rising. "P-please...I have to go to him!"

I wrung myself away from his arm, but only made it a few steps. Three of the men were heading back into the hospital, leaving the fourth to stand guard over the cart. My goodness, why would they leave even one? They had beaten him so badly there was no chance of him escaping on his own. No chance at all.

"Would you take the carriage closer, Monsieur?"

"Absolutely not!" he cried, sounding suitably petrified.

I spun around to glare at the elderly man. I wasn't even sure what his name was, but he irked me. Because he was old. Because he was a coward – but no more so than me. Madame du Brul would have been a more appropriate candidate for what I needed to do.

And oddly just then I thought of Raoul. Raoul...would he even help Erik if he could? If I sent for him, would that seal his fate? A lifetime forever in Bicetre – or exposed as the Phantom, and hung publicly? Guillotined? All I knew was that cart could not leave for Bicetre...it could not leave, or Erik would be gone forever.

"Go to Monsieur de Chagny's and get him to come back here with you," I demanded.

"You want me to order an aristocrat?" he asked, gaping at me.

"I don't care if you must bring him here at sword point! Go get him, and do it now! And do it fast, or I swear I will beat you myself!"

He stared at me with wide eyes and climbed to his perch. "Madame, you are insane."

"Go," I hissed at him. He turned the carriage into the street, and set off towards the Seine at a sedate canter. I could only hope he remembered that Erik could die if he didn't hurry.

I turned back, watching in disbelief as the remaining guard made jeering noises at Erik through the iron bars. He poked through them with his baton, then more sharply when the form inside didn't move. After a few moments of his prey being unresponsive he sighed in disgust and stepped towards the guard shack to have a cigarette.

"Erik," I whispered, standing alone in the dark shadows beside the wall of the hospital. I longed to go forward...but what would happen if I did? For all I knew Victor could have been watching nearby, or could come upon us at any moment. What would I do then?  
But what would Erik do now?

"Why did you go back? Why?"

I found myself moving forward without even realizing it. The guard wasn't watching the cart anymore, he had moved down the wall and was interested in his cigarette now. I wrung my hands nervously together, realizing how alone I was. All alone, because the only one who could protect me wasn't able. He was hurt...and my only thought was to get him home.

Had they taken his mask? Most likely, but I had not seen his face as most of it was flat upon the ground.

I could make out a form inside the cart, thankfully not hitched to a horse at the moment. I moved to the side that was away from the guard and looked inside. Erik's back was to me, blood visible through his clothing, in his hair...there was something wrong with his hair...

"You! Step away from there!"

I jumped and spun around, fear echoing through my heart. I faced a man much younger than myself, wielding a baton in one hand, a cigarette clamped in his mouth.

"What are you doing?" he asked suspiciously.

"I...I just wanted to see..."

"Yeah?" he grunted, then peered over my shoulder. "I don't think it's something you want to look at, lady."

"What's going on?" I whispered, and turned back to look at Erik. He hadn't moved at all since that last blow to his head.

"He killed a doctor, and there's two women missing. Likely ra-"

He stopped and cursed.

"Beg your pardon, Madame."

So it was fine to beat a man to death, but he couldn't say rape in front of a lady? I narrowed my eyes at him.

"How old are you?" I demanded.

"Madame?"

I arched my brow at him, and repeated my question.

"S-sixteen, Madame," he said, looking ill at ease.

"Is Tomas Costas working tonight?"

"It's nearly dawn, Madame. His shift doesn't start until eight."

I blew out a breath in frustration, and glared at him. "This man needs medical attention, or he's going to die."

His eyes widened. "Did you hear what I just said? He killed a doctor – "

"I've seen your definition of doctor around here," I snapped. "And I've seen how you treat your patients. And I watched what you did to him, now get away from here and leave him be."

"You need to leave, Madame. This is not your concern," he said, his patience thinning, but I was not about to be ordered around by a child ten years younger than me.

"Get away! Get away from here," I whispered vehemently.

"You're mad!"

My lips trembled, and I felt tears spill over onto my cheeks. Of course I was mad. That was every man's solution to a woman who spoke her mind. She was mad. She was insane...so lock her away. Throw away the key. Is your wife not behaving properly, or do you just need an excuse to be rid of her? Throw away the key.

He must have sensed how close I was to launching myself at him, because he turned away and stalked through the entrance. The knowledge that Victor – hopefully it was Victor he had killed – was dead secretly thrilled me. I was sorry that it had resulted in Erik being captured this way, but I was not sorry he was dead. Not after looking at Rebbecca's poor, abused body. Not after what I had seen of her beautiful hair.

"Monsieur Chartraine?" I whispered, and stepped closer to the crate. I reached through as far as I could and touched his shoulder, drawing away fingers sticky with blood. "Erik?"

He spun so fast I had no time to react, gripping my wrist with his left hand and pulling me so hard against the bars that I cracked my skull and chin. I saw his face for the first time – the right and the left – but it was so bloody and swollen I couldn't tell what exactly he had been trying to hide. It was dark inside the cart, and I could see nothing but swollen, bruised flesh, and blood. So much blood that it seemed to drip from his mouth, from his forehead...from his eyes even. Where before they had been green, now I only saw red.

"Erik..."

He had pulled me so hard against the bars that my flesh dug into the iron, my forehead aching from where it had connected. I knew when he recognized me, or possibly only my voice. He released me and lowered his head to the floor of the cart.

"Don't look...don't look...don't look."

"Erik...Monsieur Chartraine..."

"Don't look at me," he sobbed, and swung his left fist towards me, knocking my arm against the side of a bar. "Get away from me...for God's sakes, just leave!"

His body heaved, and he scooted backwards on his stomach, trying to get away from my outstretched hand. "Erik, come to me," I pleaded, my heart breaking as he continued telling me not to look...to leave him alone. "Please...help is on the way...just come here. We have to get you home to Charlotte."

"Charlotte...," he whispered her name in despair.

"Erik, come here. I need to help you."

"You can't," he said, his voice so thick I could barely understand him. "It's too late. Just go."


	40. A Dreadful Reunion

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

_Erik_

I felt her angel's touch again. She had moved around to the other side, and reached through to touch my gloved hand. I shuddered and pulled back, protecting my face by pressing it against the floor of the cart.

"Erik, please," she whispered so softly...so gently...

Why had she come? Why did she have to see me like this? Locked in a cage again. By now I knew what my fate was. I knew, and there was nothing I could do to stop it.

"Don't look at me," I begged, my lips pressed hard into the floor. I longed to beat my forehead against the wood and render myself unconscious. To drive my face so far beyond recognition that she might never know I was hideous by nature.

"It's alright," she murmured, her voice so soft and reassuring. "I can't see you...just please, tell me where you're hurt."

I laughed bitterly. "Everywhere."

I turned my face enough to catch a glimpse of hers. She was so perfect...so beautiful. And now she would know the face she had kissed with such passion. She would know what a monster I was, right before they took me away. And she would leave me to them, eager to be rid of the beast. Of the It.

"You're bleeding," she said, sounding distressed. "It's dripping from beneath the cart...how badly are you hurt?"

"I've been shot...if I remember correctly," I grunted. "Twice, I think...but who knows anymore?"

"Oh, Lord," she whispered, and stretched her hand further through to touch my mine.

Her angel's touch...it had woken me earlier. A gentle hand in this madness...in this cruelty. While I had been knocked unconscious I had relived every memory of Bicetre. One beating was usually the same as the next. I had thought that life was beyond me, and now I had only moments of freedom left.

"Help is on the way," she said again.

"Help?" I questioned, turning to look at her fully. Her eyes were filled with tears, her face red and swollen from crying. Why was she crying? Had Rebbecca died suddenly?

She hesitated, then nodded. "Monsieur de Chagny is on his way. I think."

My heart turned to ice in that moment, and she lost every bit of favor she had left with me.

"I pray that you are jesting, Madame," I said softly.

If this woman had brought my enemy to my aid, I would never forgive her. My God, I could only imagine the look of satisfaction in his eyes if he came here and seen me like this. Likely he would take me to Bicetre himself, handing me over with a smile and a friendly shove through the doors.

"No...no, I'm afraid not," she murmured. "I'm sorry, but he was the only person I knew."

I laughed harshly. "Perhaps you should have informed the superintendent at Bicetre, and saved the Vicomte the trouble of leaving his warm bed. Perhaps you should kill me yourself, Madame, because I sure as hell don't want his help."

"Not even if he returns you to Charlotte?" she demanded, her tone sharpening to the point of a razor. "Not even if he saves your life?"

"In the miraculous event that he decides not to turn me over to the authorities," I said sarcastically, "I shall kiss your feet and thank you for serving my humiliation with a smile, Madame."

"That was not my intention, and you know it! Don't be petty, for God's sakes, I'm trying to save your life," she said, and made a wailing noise that penetrated the angry fog in my mind.

"You're frightened, Madame. Just go home and take care of your sister," I whispered, feeling so tired I just wanted to sleep, perhaps forever.

"I'm not leaving you!" she insisted, looking at me with indignation. "Not after everything you've done for me. For Rebbecca."

"Your wasting your time. They're going to take me, and there is nothing you can do. Where are the guards anyway?"

She smiled. "I think I frightened the one that was here. He left."

"He's going back for his friends," I told her, and the smile slipped from her face. "You should go–"

"They will have to drag me away from you, because I'm not leaving!"

If I'd had the strength to argue with her, I would have, but as it was I felt as if I might lose consciousness again.

"Keep talking," I whispered. "You're nagging is keeping me awake."

She reached for my left hand again, and I gave it to her this time, although I couldn't do more than allow her to hold it. I could only hope they came for me before dawn, so she couldn't see me in the light of day.

"Erik–I may call you that, I hope..."

"Call me whatever you want. It isn't going to matter soon," I grunted, blinking back a drop of blood that found its way into my eye. I was lying on my stomach with my head turned away from her, my bloody face drying and beginning to stick to the wooden floor. "What about your vampire references? Those were always amusing."

Evangeline sniffled, and I heard her exhale softly. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry..."

"Forget it."

"I didn't mean anything–"

"Evangeline, did you find the letter?" I asked, distracting her momentarily. I didn't think she had, otherwise she wouldn't have come to help me. She would have let me die, then she could have stayed with Charlotte forever.

Her answer was a gasp, then a snort. "How can you think about something like that, at a time like this?"

Think about what? I wondered, then it hit me. She thought I was referring to–

"Sweetheart," I drawled, oozing charm and blood all in one breath, "I've been thinking about that since I laid eyes on you."

And she would find out soon enough my words held another meaning that what she perceived. She would know, and whether or not she managed to save me she would be more than happy to see the last of me.

"That's very crude," she finally said, though I didn't detect a bit of reproach in her tone. "Most women would love to hit you for that."

"As much as I would love another beating, I really must decline."

I made the mistake of shifting my legs, causing pain to slice through the one that had been shot. I groaned in agony, and her fingers tightened over my own, and she put her other hand through the bar and touched my back, stroking soothingly.

"Shhh," she whispered, and I stopped moving as she murmured gentle words to me. "I'm here...We're going to get you out of here."

"Evangeline, it's too late. Even if de Chagny comes, they think I killed Victor. They aren't going to let me go."

Her hand stilled on my back, and I summoned the strength to turn the left side of my face towards her.

"He's really dead?" she asked, a frightfully calm expression on her face.

"I don't know. If he is, it wasn't something I did. He behaved foolishly, and jumped into the water where I met back up with you."

She moved her hand to my face for a moment, her hand touching blood and swollen flesh. "I believe you."

We both froze as we heard voices, and I looked up in fear as I saw three men coming out of the hospital, the one who had been kicking me as the ringleader.

"Evangeline, get out of here," I said sharply. "Go...go, please leave."

"Never," she whispered, and wrapped her arms around the bars of the cage. Her brown eyes were wide with fear, but her mouth set into a resolute line.

"Get out of here!" I roared, then felt my skull split open as pain shot through my face.

"Now is that any way to talk to a lady?" one of the guards snickered. "Perhaps It doesn't know proper manners."

"We can teach It," another volunteered.

"Get away from him," Evangeline seethed at them.

"You move away from that cart, woman. He's a dangerous criminal," the third said, and proceeded to try and pull her backwards.

"Leave her alone!" I growled, but I knew it would do no good. There was nothing I could do for her now.

She met my eyes through the bars and tightened her hold on them. "Erik, I'm not letting them take you," she whispered.

They snatched on her, pulling her shoulders, then her waist. She kicked backwards, and I smiled as she caught one in the groin, and another in the knee. The third was smarter, and grabbed onto her feet, pulling her body from the ground and trying to wrest her away from the cage. If she let go, she would land face first onto the pavement.

"Evangeline, just go," I pleaded. "Just go."

"Erik," she whimpered, and reached for me with one hand. "I'm so sorry."

He pulled on her again, nearly succeeding in freeing her. His face twisted from the strain of holding her flailing legs, and he momentarily lost his hold, allowing her to regain her grip on the bars.

He was reaching for his baton when I heard a rather amused voice...a familiar voice that for once was welcomed.

"Having fun, gentlemen?"


	41. Impasse

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

_Eva_

I could have wept when I heard his frosty, haughty voice. So cold, so reminiscent of the way Erik's voice could sometimes be. Deceptively calm, but when I looked up into his eyes I saw how angry he really was.

"Monsieur de Chagny!" I sobbed, and gave one last kick at the man who had been attacking me. One of them had run his hands suggestively up my dress twice, which had resulted in a kick to his groin, and another had pinched my backside and pressed himself against me, earning a kick in his leg. The other had ousted my efforts to use my feet to defend myself, and I had felt utterly helpless with my feet in the air, and my arms gripping the bars. I released the cage and stepped backwards, feeling relief and hope swell through me.

Raoul was driving Erik's carriage, the gardener sitting beside him gripping the seat with white knuckles. From the way both men and the horse were blowing, I suspected they had come at full speed from his estate. And oddly, Raoul seemed to be very under dressed for the pre – dawn hours.

"I suggest you back away from the woman," Raoul said, and stepped from the carriage perch.

Good Lord, he was barefoot for heaven's sakes! And wearing only his trousers and a white shirt! But at least he was armed. He had pulled a revolver from his waistband, and was pointing it at the three guards.

"de Chagny?" one of them repeated.

"That's right."

"Oh, Christ," I heard Erik mutter.

Raoul's eyes swung inside the cart for the first time, and he stepped forward to look inside. _"Erik?"_

"There's no need to shout. They didn't remove my ears."

He shifted his eyes over to me, then to the guards, and finally back on Erik who had not bothered looking up at him.

"Would someone care to explain?"

The sixteen year old guard who I had spoken to earlier stepped forward. "He killed a doctor, and there are two women patients missing. And he stabbed one of the guards, and another one likely has a concussion."

"That's all?" Erik asked, and I heard him chuckle softly. "Pity."

"Murder and kidnapping?" Raoul snorted, then turned to look at Erik through the bars. "Certainly not, Monsieur."

"This isn't what it looks like," I whispered, and moved around the cart to him. "Please, Monsieur. He's going to die if we don't get him to a doctor."

"Evangeline–"

I tugged him down so I could whisper in his ear what we had been doing, about Rebbecca mostly. His eyes widened into disbelief, then settled on anger.

"Evangeline–" he began again, but Erik cut him off.

"It's useless. Just let them take me so I can die alone," he spat, and raised his head to glare at both of us. "Get her out of her before they do this to her too."

"My God," Raoul breathed as he finally caught sight of his face. The sun was beginning to rise, streaking light through the cloudless sky, but there was so much blood his features were indeterminable. "Erik..."

"Just leave, de Chagny," he whispered, sounding broken and defeated. "Just go."

"Tell him you didn't kill anyone," I demanded, and reached through to take his hand. "Tell him. Don't you dare let them kill you for something you didn't do."

Raoul inhaled sharply, and glanced up at the guards. "Is this true?"

"He's dead, isn't he?" the youngest one asked, nudging another in the ribs. "Found him floating in the sewer with a rope around his neck."

"How remarkable...a rope," Raoul drawled, and Erik snorted.

"Believe whatever the hell you want. Just get her out of here," he said, and lay his head back on the floor of the cart.

"Monsieur, please," I whispered, "think of Charlotte."

"I am thinking of her, Evangeline. She's the reason I crawled out of bed this brisk morning. The reason I live and breathe...and he's the only thing standing in my way."

"She'll hate you if you let him die," I said softly.

He lowered his eyes for a moment. "Perhaps she will."

"He did nothing wrong! They shot an innocent man! An unarmed man!"

"Ins s-the back," Erik added weakly.

"The back! You said nothing about your back!" I shouted at him.

"It was a spfigure of spppeesch," he slurred.

"He was shot?" Raoul asked, his eyes turning back to the guards. "Who shot him?"

"That would be me," one of them said proudly.

"His back was to you?"

"He was running away," he said defensively.

"Erik, did you kill that doctor?"

A long pause, then a very soft, "No."

"Swear to me," Raoul said, his voice stern and accusing.

"I schwear on _her_ grave, de Chagny. S'how's is that? I schwear on _her_ grave."

His voice was growing weaker by the moment, and I knew he was close to either dying or slipping into a restful sleep.

"They beat him long after he stopped fighting. He was unconscious, and they still beat him," I said, seeing he was quite close to giving in. "He saved my sister's life tonight, Monsieur. Please...Charlotte needs him. He's her father, and he was trying to protect her. Don't let him die here. Don't let them take him back to Bicetre."

Raoul sighed heavily and rubbed his eyes. "Very well. Unlock this door."

"Monsieur de Chagny, this is highly irregular!"

"That is Vicomte de Chagny to you," he snapped, "and I'm sure the gendarmes would be interested in learning how an unarmed man was shot with his back turned and beaten to this degree! Especially the Prefect, who happens to be a personal acquaintance of mine."

"But Dr. Clarke-"

"Unproven, as of yet. And if he says he didn't do it, then I have no reason not to believe him."

"What about those patients?"

The oldest looking of the guards nudged that one and shook his head slightly. "Forget them. Clarke's dead, it doesn't matter anymore. Unlock the gate, just get that _thing_ out of here."

He tossed the keys at Raoul belligerently and they all turned back to the hospital. I took the keys and hurriedly unlocked the gate and had almost climbed inside before Raoul pulled me back.

"Easy there, Madame. We'll get him out soon enough," he said softly and set me on the curb.

He climbed in himself, and I heard him curse softly. "Erik? Are you awake?"

"I am now."

"I'm going to roll you over, then pull you out."

"Tell Madame Novelli to get back," he whispered, groaning as Raoul pushed him over. "Don't...don't..."

"Erik, I have to get you out of here. It's daylight now, and people are going to be coming onto the streets soon," he told him, effectively halting any more protests from him.

He jumped down from the carriage and pulled his shoulders from the opening, and I met Erik's eyes for a moment before he turned his head. He was far bloodier than I had imagined, caking his hair, which I realized now was brown instead of black, and streaking down his neck into his clothing. It appeared even his ear was not saved, having dried blood all across it. The left side of his face had spent the most time on the floor as he struggled to keep me from looking at him, and as hard as it was not to look, I turned away from his face so he would not have to suffer my scrutiny.

"Pull the carriage closer and help me with his legs," Raoul instructed the gardener, and shifted Erik's torso, grimacing when the larger man groaned in agony.

The two men finally loaded him into the carriage, and I knew Erik had suffered the ultimate shame. Raoul handed me inside then took the reins again. I sat on the floor beside Erik and took his hand when we started moving. He turned his face instinctively away, and drew one leg up to prevent me from getting closer.

"I'm so sorry," I whispered, and placed my hand across his chest.

"Don't. Do_ not_ touch me. Don't look at me, and don't touch me," he said roughly, and actually tried to sit up. His right arm and right leg seemed to be the places where he had been shot, I quickly discovered, and he grunted as we hit a bump in the road, the horse picking up speed as we careened down the pavement.

"Lay down," I pleaded, and began to unbutton his shirt to see if he was still bleeding.

"What...what the hell do you think you're doing?"

"I want to look at your arm," I said, and looked up at him.

His face was a mass of blood and bruises, and it was hard to tell what injuries were fresh and what he had been trying to hide – but I could see that the right side of his face was certainly different than the left, even without the beating he had sustained.

"Get away from me, Evangeline," he said shortly, and pushed me backwards with his left arm. "Don't look at me, do you hear me?"

I set back and drew my knees up, burying my face in my hands. I wanted to help him, but I couldn't do it without looking at him or touching him. I wanted to say something to him, but I had never seen someone so crushed – so defeated. I had certainly never expected this stoic and strong man to look this way...to beg me not to so much as look at him.

"It doesn't matter to me, Erik. Let me hel-"

"Shut up! Just shut up, I don't even want to hear you speak to me! Shut up, or I'll send you packing tonight!" he blustered, raising his head to glare at me. "I swear, if you do one more thing to help me tonight you'll never see my daughter again."


	42. Taking the Blame

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

_Erik_

My humiliation complete, I drifted off intermittently during the ride home. At least I hoped that was where de Chagny was conveying me at breakneck speed. I occasionally woke to hear Evangeline sniffling, trying to hide her tears over the pacing rhythm of the horse hooves, and as much as I wanted to apologize I knew that I wouldn't. I had no intentions of making her leave just yet, not unless she persisted in aggravating me. But I also had not forgiven her for calling Raoul to my rescue.

My rescue, for God's sakes! I had let him carry me to safety like a helpless child. If he had offered one word of comfort to me I would have probably died from shame. As it was, I had been humiliated far worse than ever before in my life. Even more than the theater...even more than Bicetre. The last thing I had ever expected was for this to happen, and now I had a shaky recovery to look forward to. The only thing I could hope for was that someone could remove the bullets and I could slink upstairs where no one could find me. Evangeline would find her dismissal letter, and I wouldn't have to face her again. And eventually I would recover and maybe disappear forever with Charlotte.

That was if I didn't die, of course. I had finally stopped bleeding from the bullet wounds, but I knew as soon as someone began digging around in the flesh it would start over. And I could only hope Madame du Brul would be so gracious to share some of her laudanum with me, otherwise I would have to kill her.

Once the carriage stopped I feigned sleep as Raoul and my gardener unceremoniously hauled me inside. I opened my eyes long enough to make out the stone of the porch I had laid myself, then the black and white tiles of my entryway.

"Where are we taking him?" Raoul grunted, his arms fisted beneath my shoulders. The gardener was at my feet, jostling my leg around so much I felt like firing him on the spot.

"Upstairs," I heard Evangeline say, and she rushed past us, throwing open a door to the closest bedroom. "The bed isn't made, but I..."

"It doesn't matter," Raoul said quietly. "He's beyond caring at this point."

It was true...Truly, I didn't care. They had seen the worst of me, the worst of what could happen when I was treated by members of society they could greet casually on the street. By four _boys_... most of them younger than de Chagny. And when he had met me in the cemetery I had thought _he_ was a child.

"My God!"

Madame du Brul entered the room as they put me on the bed, and I opened my eyes to see all of them staring down at me, along with a woman I didn't recognize.

"What the hell happened to him?" she demanded, and immediately set to shooing people out of the room. The gardener left, and the mystery woman left, who I realized must have been the tag along from Rebbecca's kidnapping.

"Get Madame Novelli out of here," I whispered to her as she bent over my head. "Do it, or I'll fire you."

She nodded, and turned to order everyone else out of the room. Raoul didn't leave, and I raised my head enough to see him lounging against the door frame. "He's been shot. Can you remove the bullets, Madame? I doubt he wants a doctor after tonight."

"Bullets?" she gasped. "I don't know anything about that sort of thing!"

"Just get me a knife. I'll dig them out myself," I snapped, though it sounded pathetic with a weak voice and my pitiful attempt to lean over. "And I want your laudanum, Madame. I know where your stash is, so don't bother trying to deny it."

She gaped at me, and planted her hands over her hips. "Well, I never!"

"I'll do it," Raoul said, and I looked over to see him folding back his sleeves.

"I bet you'd love to." I glared at him, then glanced down to see his bare feet. "I'm touched, you were so concerned for my safety you forgot to dress. Is that it?"

He smirked. "Something like that. Madame, if you would undress him, I'll find some towels and something to remove the bullets with."

He disappeared, and Madame du Brul stared at me in horror. She tried to avoid my face and failed, flushing uncomfortably as she glanced between my face and my clothing.

"Oh, just get on with it!" I said gruffly. "You're going to have to cut them off. I'm far too tired to move."

She left and came back with a pair of scissors, biting her lip as she cut through my shirt and coat at the same time. She paled as she worked on my right arm, having to yank the fabric away from the wound because it had dried to my bloody skin.

"That hurts, damn you!" I shouted, and gripped the bare mattress to keep from choking her. I cursed and yelled, and she kept on cutting, poking me several times with her shears when I flailed around on the bed.

She lost her balance, dug her elbow into my right leg...and the world went blissfully dark.

- -

When I woke again it was full on daylight, shining though the window with such force I blinked in annoyance.

"You're awake!"

I groaned and turned towards the cheerful voice, finding a face as bright as the sunshine looking at me, blue eyes wide and sparkling.

"Who – "

"I don't know," she rolled her eyes, and moved from the chair beside the bed to look at me. "Well...that really isn't true. I know who I am, but I'm not going to tell any of you."

"Where is my housekeeper?" I whispered, feeling my throat hot and dry. My body felt as if it were on fire...really just my arm and leg. The rest of me felt as if it had been beaten severely, and I raised a hand to my face, drawing away sticky red blood.

"She's asleep. You kept her awake long enough, so I offered to watch you until you woke up."

She leaned over the bedside table and withdrew a washcloth, dabbing at my mouth and around my left cheek. She frowned when I flinched, and continued until I grasped her wrist and moved her hand away.

"Where is my daughter?"

"She's sitting with the man who brought you home," she told me, and I closed my eyes, remembering a part of the night I wanted to forget. "He got those bullets out, but told us to leave your other injuries until you had some rest. Let me get this blood off you."

She tried to clean my face again, and I turned away, trying to preserve what little modesty I had left. A quick check revealed I was nude...totally nude...which meant Madame du Brul had finally managed to get my clothes off after she had rendered me unconscious. At least she had been kind enough to cover me...I only hoped de Chagny had not gotten an eyeful as well.

"Please, just leave me alone," I said as gently as I could. "I don't want your help."

"What about some water. Would you like something to drink?" she offered, and before I could protest she had shoved an arm beneath my head and was trying to pour water down my throat. She succeeded in making the bed wet and her dress bloody, but very little water actually entered my mouth.

"Go wake Madame du Brul," I said curtly, and pushed her away from me. "She can sleep later. And shut those damn curtains before you leave. This isn't a damned sideshow fair."

She actually giggled before she left, making me wonder if she might be a little off, but she did shut the curtains so that the light wasn't so bright on my face. I took the rag she had abandoned from the nightstand and tried to clean the left side of my face. It was impossible to tell if I made any difference or not, because I had barely done anything before the rag became too soiled to do any good.

"Need some help?"

I looked up to see Evangeline, hesitant in the doorway. Her hand curled around the frame, and she leaned halfway in as if she expected me to order her outside. She had changed her dress, looking beautiful in a dark green gown with her red hair in a braid over her shoulder. I opened my mouth to order her from the room, but she entered with a bundle of clothing in her arms and set them on the chair. The cheerful woman brought in a fresh basin of water and left, smiling at me so sweetly I thought it must have been stuck there.

"She will worship you forever," she said softly, and sank down beside me. "You're her hero."

"Some hero."

"Shhh," she whispered, then wet a cloth. "This won't be so bad. Just let me take care of you."

"No," I exhaled sharply as she moved her hands to my face. The cloth swept down my left cheek, then across my jawline, wiping away more blood than I had realized was on me. My skin felt so tight and drawn with blood it felt like dried clay, pulling my skin into small, pinched splotches of red mud.

"Do you want me to close the door? It will block out the light," she offered gently, and I nodded pathetically, unable to meet her eyes. "Madame du Brul is exhausted. She's been up with my sister all night, then with you all morning. Monsieur de Chagny is keeping Charlotte occupied so she doesn't notice anything amiss..."

She closed the door and I watched as she made her way back to the bed, both of us shadows in the room instead of two people trying not to look at one another.

"The woman you rescued has been awake since we brought her here. Madame says she's full of energy, and has driven her to distraction...but she kept Charlotte busy while we tended to you..."

"We?" I asked suspiciously, and she met my eyes for a moment before she concentrated on cleaning my ear.

"I helped with the bullets," she whispered. "Madame du Brul doesn't have the stomach for blood."

I wondered what she had seen as well, though I didn't remember anything of them taking bullets from my body. I still felt incredibly weak; exhausted beyond belief, and I could see no end to my exposure in sight. I remained silent as she continued wiping blood from my face, using several towels instead of the same bloody one. She placed a cold hand against my neck as she worked, her breaths hitting my wet skin, coming out hard and fast as if she were frightened.

She ran the towel down the bridge of my nose, then across my right cheek, and stopped as she felt the changes on that side of my face.

"That's far enough," I said, then took the rag from her.

"You can't-"

"I said that's far enough," I repeated, then turned away from her. "Haven't you seen enough? Must you take everything from me?"

"I'm not-"

Her hand settled on my shoulder, and she squeezed gently.

"I'm not trying to hurt you," she began again, choking on tears. She sniffled, then took a deep breath. "That is the last thing I want. Let me help you, Erik. Please. Let me help you...this is all my fault."


	43. Avenging Angel

Disclaimer: Not mine

_Eva_

"Your fault?" he whispered, looking in my eyes directly. "What are you talking about?"

"I shouldn't have let you go." My eyes filled, and I turned away, completely embarrassed. I doubted there was little more I could do to show him that I cared for him, other than to try and help him. We had already crossed a boundary in our relationship, and I wasn't sure which way either one of us wanted to go. Back to governess and employer? Or was there something more? Or was that kiss merely part of the arrangement I had made with him, and nothing more?

"Let me?" he repeated in a sullen tone. "Madame, you don't have the authority to_ let_ me do anything. You certainly have no right to think you can order me about."

"You were nearly killed! You still have that chance, _Monsieur_, if you develop a fever!"

I took a new cloth and wet it, starting at his forehead this time instead of his cheek. I had studied him while he had been unconscious, and when I had finished Raoul had given me a strange look. It was only then I had realized I had been crying and touching the right side of his face. What had happened to him? Had they done this in Bicetre? They were the strangest scars I had ever seen, if they had been done intentionally, and his hair on the right side was missing. What sort of injury could cause his hair to not come back in?

"How long has Madame du Brul been asleep?" he asked, an annoyed expression on his face. I was so grateful that I could see his expression now that I could have wept, even if he was insisting on being difficult. I knew there was more to his spiteful behavior than he would ever let on. He was hurting inside, and there was nothing I could do except try and repair the outside.

"About two hours now." I met his eye, seeing an argument already forming in his throat. "Not long enough, Monsieur. You can tolerate my presence a little more, can't you?"

He didn't answer as I swept the rag over his sparse eyebrow, then down his bloody eyelid. I could tell by the set of his teeth he wanted nothing more than to toss me out on my ear. I could see at least three gashes on his scalp...most likely the source of all of the blood.

"You may need to be stitched up," I said softly. "As soon as I clean those wounds, you're going to lose a lot more blood."

"Find Dr. de Chagny," he snarled, "he'd love to inflict a little more pain on me, I'm sure."

"Perhaps I will find him," I replied mildly. "But I think I will dose you with laudanum first, so you may be a little nicer to the man who-"

"Don't say it," he threatened, his voice low and deep. "I have one good hand, and I'll strangle you with it. It would have been better if you had left me, Madame. Better for everyone...," he exhaled sharply and turned away, blinking quickly in his moment of self pity. "Especially Charlotte."

"She's been asking for you all morning," I whispered, my throat aching at his desolate manner. How could he not know how much she loved him? How much she needed him now, and every day for the rest of her life?

"She has _him_, doesn't she?"

"Don't be so bitter. She has both of you, and she's going to be the most loved child in the world for it." I touched his chin, stroking until he relaxed and turned his head towards me. "If I get you cleaned up enough, I think you should see her."

"No!"

"Don't you have another mask?" I dared to ask, and he tightened his lips when they trembled.

"It's upstairs, and it wouldn't fit anyway," he muttered, his hand clenching into a fist. He was getting angry and frustrated over his lack of control. I knew Erik wouldn't be an easy patient, especially after he regained a little more of his strength.

My foot swung out and knocked over the cane Madame du Brul had brought by earlier. He stared at it a moment, then looked up at me in question. "If you need to use the water closet..."

"Right, I'll just prance out there right now," he said, and I saw a hint of a smile for the first time. I wondered how long it had taken him to realize he was naked, and if he was embarrassed by his nudity at all. Judging by the way he had covered even the rope scars on his wrists with gloves all the time...I suspected that he was. He had more scars on his body than just the ones on his face, but I knew they were the ones that mattered to him most. Now that I had cleared away what I could of the left side, despite the swelling I could tell he was an attractive man. The right side was still far too bloody for me to make out...I wasn't quite sure what I was seeing...but I knew it wouldn't matter to me anyway.

"Want me to help you dress?" I offered casually, and his smile vanished. He shook his head, but glanced longingly at the cane. "Come now, it will give me time to fix your bed properly while you're gone."

I pulled a pair of trousers from the chair, and tugged the blanket off his feet to the knee. "Madame, I really must protest." I glanced up and gave him an innocent smile, rolling the pants over both feet and inching up carefully.

"Would you rather wait for Madame du Brul?"

He swallowed, then nodded eagerly, his lips parting in solemn surprise.

"You haven't convinced me. Besides," I couldn't help but tease, "it's not as if I've-"

"Madame!" he barked, and jerked his left leg quickly when my hand slid up his calf.

"-never helped a man dress before. I did this for my father all the time when he was sick."

Erik exhaled sharply as I pulled the trousers above his knee, then carefully up over his injury. I met his eyes as I braced my hand on the bed and shifted them up his muscled legs. My hands brushed over the warm heat of his inner thighs, and he began nearly crawling backwards on the bed, shaking his head at me.

"Stop moving, or I'll never get these on you."

"Madame...get your hand...remove your hand from there!" he yelped, and pulled his covers higher. I tugged back, because that would mean more of his lower body would be exposed to me. "Dammit woman, I can do it myself!"

"Sure, sure," I chuckled, though my face was as red as his. I could clearly see why he was concerned by now, though I had no idea what I had done to warrant such attention. "Who do you think pulled your pants off, Monsieur?"

That silenced him, and I frowned as I tried to figure out what to do now that I had them half way on...with no way other than the obvious to get them over his backside. I couldn't look him in the eyes any longer, but unfortunately they trained elsewhere and I felt myself turn redder than a poppy flower and unable to look away.

"Would you turn around_ please_?" he asked curtly, and I did, finding my face far too warm for the beginning of winter. I heard him shift on the bed, grunting, but making progress with his trousers. I breathed a sigh of relief when I heard him sink back onto the bed, then a muffled curse when he couldn't work the buttons properly.

"Do you - ?"

"No!"

"Well then..."

He struggled for a few more moments then was still. "I'm finished. You may leave now."

"Leave? But your shirt - "

"Don't need it," he grunted, then pulled his good leg to the side of the bed. "Go on, you don't want to watch me do this, and I don't want you to see."

"Let me help."

He said nothing as I sat beside him and held the cane steady for him. He was in great pain, not thinking beyond it anymore as he struggled to sit up, his teeth bared at me when I put my arm around his back.

"Your back is bruised," I whispered, leaning back to look at the black welts across his spine. "Every inch of you is nearly bruised."

"So noted," he grunted, and moved his injured leg incredibly slowly towards the edge of the bed. "I don't...," he gasped as pain shot through him, and I watched his face turn white.

"You can," I said softly. "You just may need some help. Would you rather have some laudanum first?"

"Yes. An entire bottle, if you have it," he said quietly, then wiped at his sweating brow impatiently.

I arched my brow and offered him a spoonful, then another when he absolutely insisted on it. "You don't want to fall asleep on the way. You can have more later."

"Woman, you are not my mother!" he barked, glaring at me. "If I want the entire bottle, I'll drink the entire damned bottle!"

I rolled my eyes and set the bottle down out of his reach, then braced my shoulder beneath his arm. "Do you want to try this, or do you want me to find Monsieur de Chagny so he may carry you?"

Without another word he put weight on his left leg and stood, though the noise he made told me the last thing he wanted was to try and move. My arm around his back was agony for him, and I felt the rises on his flesh where they had beaten him with thier batons. We were merely lucky this bedroom happened to have a water closet inside it, instead of making him traverse up and down the hallway. I knew it would be awhile before his bruises had faded enough, and the swelling had gone down enough for Charlotte to see him in the daytime, but I thought with the shades drawn and the room dark enough that she would be able to visit him - if not hug him.

"A little further," I whispered when he hung his head, his weight almost entirely on me. Blood had started fresh from his leg wound, and I knew something would have to be done to prevent him from losing any more. By the time we had made it to the door he had broken into a sweat over his entire body, but not once did he complain. I turned up the light for him and let him do the rest, pulling a chair by the door for him to sit in when he finished.

I left and found proper bed linens for him, and stopped by the room next door to check on Rebbecca. The cheerful unidentified woman, who I was determined to name eventually, was sitting with her and smiled at me when I came in.

"How is he?" she asked brightly.

"He'll be fine," I said reassuringly, "as long as he lets someone help him."

"You should disinfect those wounds," she told me, looking a little sternly. "I knew a doctor once, you know?"

"No," I said wryly. "I don't know. Still don't want to give us your name?"

She shrugged, "I don't want anyone to find me. This is too good to be true...I'm not ever going back there." Her eyes hardened suddenly when she said it, then the look disappeared. "So call me whatever you want."

"So what should I disinfect him with?" I asked, and glanced down at my still sleeping sister. She had finally stopped shivering, and the German cook had come up and announced it her personal mission to see her fattened within days.

"Peroxide, if you have it. It's gentler than carbolic acid or boric acid, and won't burn him as badly."

"He will be pleased to know this. Will you see if you can find some? I need to get back before he injures himself." I kissed Rebbecca's cheek gently, and promised her I would have her a bath at least by the next day. And hopefully one for Erik as well, although I thought she would be an easier patient than him.

"Tell him I...," she stopped and sighed. "Tell him how grateful I am. I swear when he came to me, I thought he was an angel. My own avenging angel, come to rescue me. Will you tell him that, please?"

I swallowed hard and nodded, and gave her a kiss on the cheek too, because she needed it; and honestly so did I.


	44. Christine's Illness

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

_Erik_

The room was empty when I returned, and I sank down gratefully into a well placed chair outside the door. The mattress would need to be replaced as I had bled all over it, though I would settle for someone flipping it for now. What I really wanted was a bath, but I doubted I had the ability to do so by myself. After the embarrassment of being dressed like a child by a woman who smelled like living jasmine – a woman with the ability to stir every one of my senses by merely breathing – I was disinclined to show her more of me than she had already seen. Willingly, of course. For the moment I was glad to forget that she may have seen more of me than I had seen of myself.

I wasn't sure what had possessed her to tease me in that manner. Most women would have slapped a man for showing such disrespect and lusting after her so openly. Of course, she had asked for it by insisting on dressing me, but I had no desire to be shamed for something I had no control over.

"You look fairly chipper."

I raised my head at the sound of de Chagny's sardonic voice. "You think so? I feel as if I've been beaten within an inch of my life."

"And nearly were," he said quietly, and stepped over to look at the mattress. "I'm going home soon –"

"Really? I'm sorry we didn't get a chance to visit."

He settled into the chair beside the bed, "Yeah? Maybe I'll come back tomorrow, so you won't have a chance to miss me."

Evangeline came into the room and glanced at both of us. "Where's Charlotte?"

"In the kitchen."

She relaxed and came towards me with a bottle of something. "What is that?" I asked, immediately suspicious.

"This?" she smiled, and knelt beside my chair. "This will keep you from getting an infection – or so I was told by your mystery woman. Monsieur de Chagny, would you mind turning Erik's mattress? It's quite bloody..."

He stood and flipped it efficiently, and I seethed in jealousy at the way he was able to move freely. She poured some of the liquid down my arm, and I watched it boil white foam before she blotted it dry.

"I'll need to do your leg in a moment," she said softly, and blushed when I cocked an eyebrow at her. Eva's eyes drifted up the right side of my head, her gaze soft and kind, then she looked back in my eyes. "How do you feel?"

"Not great – but better than last night."

"That's good," she smiled again, and dabbed at my head gently. Her hands worked around the right side of my face for several moments, clearing blood and God knows what else that I had picked up from the street and the prison cart. She frowned occasionally, biting her lip at times, and looked thoroughly involved in cleaning my disgusting flesh. I noticed Raoul did not say a word as she tended to me, and a quick glance proved he wasn't even paying attention. His fingers were steepled under his chin as he sat in the chair, obviously in deep thought.

"There," she whispered, and sat back to admire her work.

I fought the urge to turn away from her gaze. I didn't want him to know that it bothered me that much – though I remembered begging him to make her stay away from me. I remembered how he had looked at me – how Christine had looked at me, and at that point in my life I had been pathetic and weak. Weakened by love and obsession with something I would never possess, because I wasn't someone worth having.

"I want to ask you something," Raoul said quietly. "It's going to make you angry...both of you, but I have to ask anyway."

"What?" we asked in unison, then glanced at each other with red faces. Mine more than hers, naturally.

"It's about that doctor..."

We both let out a breath we had been holding, and Evangeline immediately got up and started fixing the bed for me. I found myself watching every move she made and being thankful Raoul had not wanted to ask what we both had thought.

"What about him?" Evangeline finally asked, her voice brusque.

"You said you didn't kill him," he said, looking at me. "Then what happened to him?"

"What does it matter? I didn't kill him, and you aren't going to trust me anyway. I'm not asking for you to trust me...I don't care about what you think of me and I sure as hell – "

"Dammit, Erik! I used my _name_ to get you out of there! My name, and for God's sakes, it's all I have left! I risked my honor on the assumption you told me the truth, and the least you could do is show me a little respect."

Evangeline put her hands on her hips and arched her brows at me, obviously siding with him. "For what it's worth, Monsieur de Chagny, even if he had killed him I would have given him a medal for it. But _yes_, he does need to tell you what happened, so that you will know he did nothing wrong."

I swore if she had thought of it, she would have shaken her finger at me like a naughty child. I scowled, and concentrated on a bloody wet spot that had begun in my trouser leg. "I was intending on leaving him in his office with his lady friend when I was finished with him – alive. Someone must have checked on the patients sooner than I anticipated, because by the time I had Christine's record the whole bloody place was being searched."

"What were you doing with my wife's record?" he asked angrily, and I glanced up to find him halfway across the room. "Where is it now? Where is it, damn you?"

"I destroyed it," I spat, sitting up and quite prepared to choke him if necessary.

"You couldn't resist, could you? Had to find out if she mentioned you...had to know...you just had to know!"

"I didn't look at the damned thing!" I shouted back.

He spun around and faced the door for a moment, his shoulders shaking from anger. As much as I resented him and all that he had taken from me...though it was never mine...I knew why he was angry. But I hadn't looked at her record, not beyond searching for Charlotte's consent form. I told him that, and he didn't respond.

"When I couldn't return him to his office I took him into the tunnels. He took off running, and I did nothing to stop him or help him when he jumped in the water. There was someone behind us at that point, and another coming...the kid who shot me could have possibly saved his life instead of taking aim at me repeatedly. The little bastard didn't even know who he was shooting at." Raoul turned and looked at me, then nodded.

"From what I've seen of Eva's sister, and the other woman...I don't blame you for leaving him to his own devices. Still, what you did was an incredibly stupid thing to do."

I shrugged, then winced as I remembered I had been shot in my arm. "I was doing it for Charlotte. If anything were to happen to me, I would never allow her to be inside that place."

"Christine went there and was not harmed," he said softly.

"Do you really want to take that chance with her? Christine...she didn't really need to be there...did she?" I cringed at the way it came out. As if I desperately needed to absolve myself of any sin associated with her mental health being compromised.

He gave me a strange look. "My wife needed it. She needed it so badly that she asked me to take her there, or I never would have done so." He stared down at his hands a moment, and began to twist at his wedding band which he had not removed from his left ring finger. "She was a gravely depressed woman at times. It wasn't anything to do with the theater...not really. This was about her father, and her mother. And I was told that pregnancy...as well as the time following the birth of a child can make some women go a little...mad."

It didn't sound like the most logical reasoning I had ever heard, but he seemed to be sincere and troubled about it. I knew that she had been depressed when I had begun coaching her. Not merely depressed...the girl had become so much of an introvert she rarely spoke to anyone, and one word responses were all the conversation she ever offered. The most her mouth ever opened was when she sang, and it had been without any emotion whatsoever.

"I don't want Charlotte to know about her mother's illness."

Raoul nodded, "I understand. Are you...?" he paused and took a deep breath. "Does that mean I will have the chance to see her then? Will you allow me in her life?" He looked away, his mouth tight suddenly and eyes fixated on a spot on the wall.

"I will have to think about how much, and how often. We haven't killed one another yet, but that doesn't mean I haven't considered it-"

"Erik!" Evangeline glowered at me. "Try and behave with some manners."

"Who said I had manners?" I asked, and watched her get flustered as she tucked my sheet under the bed.

"You didn't hear it from me," she snorted, then turned around once she had the blanket on. "Are you ready for me to finish patching you up?"

"Does that mean I get another eight of a teaspoon of medicine? Because if it does-"

"Oh, be quiet. You're as bad as an alley cat begging for a treat. You aren't getting the entire bottle." This time she did shake her finger at me, and poured another appallingly small dose into the spoon, shoving the sweet nasty mess down my throat, then politely offering me another swallow when I made a face. She handed me a glass of water to wash it down with, then showed me a needle and some thread.

"Erik, I really don't want to watch this," Raoul interrupted before she could come near me. "May I have your answer?"

"The answer was that I would think about it. Provided we don't kill one another, of course."


	45. Not Just Yet

Disclaimer: Not Mine.

_Eva_

Raoul left and the mystery woman arrived, offering to help finish while I showed him out. I finished changing Erik's bandage, reassuring him that she wouldn't harm him. "She's perfectly capable, Erik. At least you won't be needing stitches. Of course, I won't be here..."

If anything he paled more, but the woman came in and began inspecting his head carefully. "Yes, I think just a couple would keep this from reopening all the time," she murmured. "The other two won't need it as long as you don't injure yourself again."

Erik flinched as her hand touched the side of his face, his mouth set into a tight line with his nostrils flaring out. "I don't need stitches. Just leave, and I'll tend to it myself."

He met my eyes, and I could have sworn he wanted me to stay. "I'll be back in a moment."

He announced his fear by latching onto my wrist, telling me 'no' with a slight shake of his head.

"You two can kiss later, I have to-"

She needn't have said anymore, because he released me and I caught a glimpse of his face before I fled - one of dire mortification. I said goodbye to Raoul, but veered off to the kitchen before I went back to see Erik. Charlotte was sitting on a counter next to Hilda the cook. She leapt down and raced towards me the moment she saw me, screeching like a banshee.

"Charlotte...Charlotte!" I looked at her sternly until she had buttoned her lip. "There are people in this house sleeping right now - "

"But it's morning!" she protested. "And I haven't seen you all day, and I haven't seen Papa all day!"

"Yes...I told you your Papa wasn't feeling well," I said softly.

"You said he fell out of bed and hurt his leg," she reminded me primly.

"That's right...he isn't feeling well. And Madame du Brul was up all night trying to help him, and help Rebbecca - "

"Who is very tired, and can't have any company."

"Yes. Very tired. But I promise tomorrow we'll do something together. I just wanted to ask Hilda if she's got anything for your Papa to eat."

The woman sniffed, then tapped her silver ladle against a large stock pot. "He'll eat this," she informed me. "And I'll puree it for your sister to eat as well. No more broth for her."

"Yes, Madame," I said, smiling at Charlotte. "And thank you for watching Mademoiselle Chartraine. I know her father appreciates it...as do I."

She had no idea what was going on around the house. Likely she thought she had been kept intentionally uninformed of all our visitors...and I knew she was a little riled that she wasn't told Raoul was a Vicomte until after he had eaten his breakfast. I left Charlotte in her care again and ventured upstairs, finding myself blush more with every step I took. I wondered what Erik had felt inside when she had said that about the kiss. Had his heart raced nearly half as hard as mine? My hand was poised to push the door aside when I heard:

"-so you aren't married?"

"No," Erik replied shortly. "Where is Madame Novelli? Shouldn't she have returned by now?"

"She'll be along," came an amused reply. "So you aren't married, and she isn't married? I've got that right, don't I?"

"Madame, this is really not your business."

I smothered a laugh with my hand, and took a step closer to the door. The woman was kneeling at Erik's feet, looking up at him in pure adulation. From my angle she looked incredibly young - younger than me, and if she hadn't been so annoying I might have been jealous. But then, what reason would I have to be jealous? We had no claim on one another beyond sharing a very sensual kiss in a moment of danger.

"I'm married," she informed him sagely. "It's not the most pleasant thing in the world to be, you know? Rebbecca's lucky...now she's a widow. Provided she recovers of course."

A long pause, then, "How is Madame Clarke doing?"

"She's very tired, and hasn't opened her eyes much...you know you really shouldn't complain so much. Most men in your position would be thrilled."

"My position?" he said, sounding half amused and half angry. "You mean beaten unconscious and shot?"

She sighed in exasperation. "I meant being tended to by two very beautiful women."

He sighed heavily, then I saw her poke him in his good leg.

"You don't find me beautiful?" she demanded, and dramtically tossed her hair. I could see he took her seriously, and see that she was only teasing him, which made it all the more hilarious. "What about Madame Novelli? She's very beautiful." I smiled, liking this woman more each time she opened her mouth. "You couldn't have thought I was referring to your housekeeper," she added sternly.

"This is not happening to me," he whispered, and I waited several moments for him to make a response. When it appeared he would not, I pushed the door open, disappointed that my eavesdropping did not net as much information as I would have liked, especially about that particular question. Erik looked up in relief as I entered, then annoyance when the mystery woman slapped his legs in a cheerful display of affection.

"Now...I just need more towels!." she exclaimed, happy for a reason I didn't care to speculate on. I started to turn and she stopped me. "I'll get them," she said cheerfully, then bounced out of the room.

"My God, what is wrong with her?" he muttered, then rubbed his eyes wearily. "She never stopped talking...the whole time you were gone, just on and on and on!"

"Erik," I looked at him with a frown. "Don't be unkind to her. She's been in an asylum for God knows how long -"

"A year," he grumbled, then recited, "and she hated every minute of it, and wanted to know every single thing about me such as what I do, and who I am, and why we were -" He stopped abruptly, his mouth clamping shut and jaw setting.

I echoed his breathless feeling, but decided I was far too tired to venture into that topic with him. "She's a sweet girl. And since you rescued her, of course she wants to know everything about you. She's trying to help you," I reminded him, then knelt next to him and looked at his leg. "You're bleeding again."

"Yes, I noticed."

I stared at his leg a moment, then brushed my hand over the fabric, finding it wet and sticky. "I'll just need you to..."

"I am _not_ removing my pants," he said flatly. "You can cut the leg off my trousers if you_ must_ prod at me."

"They're your pants," I said dismissively.

"And it's my leg," he added balefully.

I took the scissors from his bedside table and began snipping at fabric, ignoring the way he tensed up as if I were intent on stabbing him. The leg was slightly swollen and hard, and I cleaned it with the peroxide, swiping away any blood that had drizzled down his leg. "I'm afraid you've ruined most of the furniture in this room," I said softly, then wrapped his wound in guaze. I finished, and with nothing left to do with my hand, I braced it across his knee. "Are you still in a great deal of pain?"

"I'm tired," he replied, and I glanced up to see his eyelids drooping. "When is she coming back?"

"In a moment. Do you want to eat?"

"I don't feel like eating. More like throwing up."

"Shall I get you a wastebasket instead?" I asked, smiling at him when he frowned. We seemed to be in constant conflict with our emotions. I tried to be stern with him, even when he amused me. He was mostly irritable and in such pain that he didn't care.

"Some soup would be fine," he finally muttered.

"You aren't running a fever, are you?" I leaned up to touch his forehead, stretching further when he shied away from my touch. I knew more than anything he wanted us to leave him alone, but as my hand slid across his face he exhaled and closed his eyes. I wondered if anyone had ever done this for him before. A mother? A lover? Christine? His face didn't feel warm, but his leg did, and I worried he would develop an infection. "You should go straight to bed once she finishes with you."

"You mean once she sews my eyes shut and ties me to the bedposts? Seriously, I think there's something off about her."

"Hush. That isn't nice, and you know it. And if she sews anything shut, I pray that it's your lips!"

He half smiled, and pitched his head back to the chair. Without looking I knew that it too would have blood on it because his hair was a mess. Thank goodness the chair was dark blue so that maybe it could be cleaned without showing. "You're willing to overlook anything, are you?"

"Erik."

"Evangeline," he replied, though through his weariness his mocking wasn't quite so cruel.

"Do you want to talk about it?" I whispered, and moved forward between his legs on my knees. He stared at the ceiling, his left hand curling around the arm of the chair. His injured right arm held tightly to his chest, long fingers wrapped around a large bruise on his ribs. He didn't move as I touched that bruise, letting my fingers drift over his and down his side. He didn't move, but I heard his breathing sharpen, and he made a sound in his throat that startled me.

"No...no..."

I nodded, somewhat relieved, but mostly disappointed. "I tried the library door this morning. It was locked, you know," I said softly.

He raised his head and finally looked at me, his green eyes full of inner fire. I longed for him to lean down and do what it was he didn't want to talk about: kiss me. Instead he nodded. "Yes. I know."

"Do you want to give me a key?" I asked, wondering if he would rather just tell me what my promise to him meant.

"No. Not just yet," he whispered, his eyes caressing my face in a way his hands hadn't. I shivered, but smiled, hoping one last time to draw him into my snare.

"Finally!" We both jumped as the woman came through the door with less decorum than a five year old girl: namely Charlotte. "I found the towels, but then I stopped by to see Rebbecca. Oh, by the way Madame. Your sister is awake."


	46. Chantilly Lace

Disclaimer: Not mine.

_Erik_

"Madame Novelli is very beautiful, isn't she?"

She persisted with that question...one she had asked no less than a dozen times since I had the misfortune to wake this morning. I struggled to keep my mind off the pain as she cleaned my head, but the pain was better than thinking about Evangeline. I was worried that she might find the letter without giving me a chance to explain. In it I had been very blunt and direct about what I wanted and expected...and I hadn't yet decided if I wanted her to keep her promise or not. Especially after all that she had done for me...especially after that kiss, though I didn't really expect it to lead anywhere else.

"What is your name?" I asked, my usual response to divert her attention - and my own - elsewhere. "Marie? Antoinette? Cleopatra? Queen Isabelle?"

She giggled, her gentle hands gently working in my peripheral vision. "If I were Queen, what would I be doing mending your head back together? I'd be eating olives from a golden platter, allowing my servant boy to fan me ever so gently."

I groaned as she rubbed at a particular spot with a little more force to rid me of caked blood. "What about...," I gasped as she did it again and momentarily forgot my question. "What about Catherine? Or Elizabeth?"

"You're trying too hard. I can guarantee you there was never a queen with my name," she laughed, sponging blood from my cheek. I held the towel up for her as she continued "That is all I think you need, if you don't strain your other two injuries."

I tried another angle. "Where are you from?"

She didn't answer, and began to bathe my face and head with the cloth. Her hands came away with blood, but she patiently cleaned my scalp and neck, pulling when necessary to remove tangles of matted hair. "You need a bath," she said quietly.

"I was underneath the hospital for days," I said softly, and she stopped moving, her eyes sliding to the wall. "I never caught your name...but are you from Chantilly?"

"No," she replied quickly. Too quickly, and bit her lip. I knew who she was and what they had been doing to her by the way her face fell. The confident and happy girl I had rescued turned into the defeated woman I had first met.

"You're safe here. No one will find you," I promised her, "not ever."

"Never?" she whispered softly, her eyes meeting mine and so full of hope that I nearly took her hand, vowing to protect her forever.

"Not unless you want to be found. And...," I stopped and carefully thought about it for a moment, "...you may stay here as long as you wish. But I think we should name you something. Any name you want...anything at all."

"I don't know." She worried her lip fiercely, looking like a child offered too many choices of treats.

"Lacey?" I blurted out, then found my face growing warm.

"Lacey?" she repeated, then smiled. "Chantilly lace? I like it."

"Chantilly Lace it is."

- -

I had endured the needle merely because Lacey had kindly offered me more than Evangeline had of the laudanum, and I had been nearly asleep the entire time she had been making a quilt out of me. I finally lay in bed and drifted on and off most of the afternoon, hobbling to the bathroom on occasion and managing fine on my own. Miraculously I was not disturbed, although at times I could hear someone shushing my daughter outside the door, or the occasional laugh that seemed to be expected now that there were six...count them..._six_ **females** living under my roof. I swore if they didn't kill me, somehow I would manage to do it myself.

Although I didn't expect to see much of Rebbecca or the cook...and for the time being, my daughter, I knew it was only a matter of time before Lacey and Evangeline descended on me again, along with a hopefully well rested Madame du Brul. I stared at the wall in my room where I knew the hidden door was located, willing some force to suck me inside and upstairs to safety.

I heard them all outside my door as the evening began to redden my curtains, casting them into sunset's light and making me wish I had them opened to capture the sky. It was probably best that they were still shut, because I still didn't want anyone to see me this way. Especially any of the women who were now living here. Especially the one that came through my door bearing a tray laden with food, even if the sight of both things stirred my hunger. The woman and the tray, that is.

"Are you ready for something to eat?" Evangeline asked softly, watching as I struggled to sit up in bed. "You were sleeping earlier, I didn't want to disturb you."

"If you don't want to disturb me, don't stand outside my door and cackle all day."

She merely smiled and moved around the bed to sit beside me, propping herself on the pillows and holding my tray. "Eat. You'll feel much better once you've had something."

"What about you?" I stared at her a moment, seeing dark circles beneath her eyes, which were red and tired looking. "Have you slept at all?"

"Not since yesterday," she confessed. "I...I tried earlier, but I've been worried about...everything."

"Your sister?"

"And you," she whispered, blushing furiously. "And Charlotte...and...Lacey. Pretty name, by the way. Clever."

"She seemed to like it," I said gruffly. "You should go to sleep now. I can handle my supper."

I proved it by spilling stew onto my hand, and cursing like a sailor on leave. She frowned and took the bowl from me, intent on feeding me like a child, which I naturally objected to.

"Erik, eat it, or I'll pour it in your mouth."

"Promise?"

She sighed and rolled her eyes, which I thought she never would have done if I hadn't been beaten like this. It had humanized me to her...to everyone. Made them see me in a way that I didn't like, but to my surprise it seemed they feared me less. Especially her. I enjoyed knowing that I could irritate her so easily, and she could feel free to express her irritation in subtle but annoying ways. Eye rolling was a habit I broke long ago, learned at the hand of a nun with an inch thick ruler and a penchant for disciplining.

"Eat it."

I opened my mouth obediently as she fed me, and once I had the first bite of food I was lost, no longer caring if she treated me like a child, or like a man, or like a dog. I could have been anything as long as she fed me. I never told her that I had perfectly good use of my left hand. It wasn't necessary since she was so determined to nurse me back to health. Maybe that was the only reason I didn't want her to read the letter. Perhaps the only thing I wanted from her was attention. Pleasure before I sent myself back into Hell. Because even if I told her that yes, I did want to talk about our kiss...or that I did want to do it again. And again...that I would kiss her any time she wanted it, or even recommended that she might like to be kissed. If she wanted something like that from me, I was willing to give it. Even if I told her everything I wanted to say, it would all change if she found out what I had asked her to do in the letter.

I already knew I would miss her if she did leave, although I still didn't know how I felt about her and Charlotte. I was already stretching my daughter thin by allowing Raoul more visits than just the one I had intended on. Now I would have to think about sharing her with Evangeline...possibly Lacey...and there were a great many other women she could form an attachment to; none of whom were Christine.

And there was another reason that I should keep my wits about me and stay away from Evangeline. I had not forgotten what Victor had said in the tunnel.

Zachary wanted Evangeline back.


	47. Vanishing of the Ghost

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

I'm back, and I'd like to tell you one of my sweet reviewers informed me my mathematics was a little off. Forgive me, but poor Erik has SIX females in his house. Not five. Sorry, but I was exceedingly tired.

_Eva_

Erik finished eating without complaint, though he had grown remarkably silent at some point. Whether he continued to be tired, or he merely wanted to allow me peace I wasn't sure. I set the bowl on the tray beside the bed and leaned against the pillows, staring at our feet that were propped parallel on the bed.

"How is your sister?" he finally asked, when it appeared I wasn't going to move from his domain.

"She only woke for a moment...and she didn't speak," I said, remembering the panic in Rebbecca's eyes until I had taken her hand and she had recognized me. I wasn't altogether certain she could see anything, for her eyes were incredibly weakened. Or perhaps it was her entire body. I knew she had not recognized me on sight...it had been my voice that had made her weep. "I'm not certain...I think she may need to see a real doctor."

"Is that wise?" Erik asked, his hands curled around the coverlet. "After all...the gendarmes are likely to be looking for a murderer, and the two women he kidnapped."

"I have to know that she will recover."

"Then you must do what you think is best." I turned to look at him in surprise, and immediately he closed his eyes to avoid looking at me. "Perhaps you can find an excellent doctor...one who is discreet. Most people will keep silent if you throw enough money in their direction."

"Thank you," I whispered, touched that he had opened his home to so many people, and was willing to do so again. "I want to help you see Charlotte this evening."

"No."

He leveled me with a solemn stare, and I could see how desperate he was to hide his deformity from Charlotte. I wondered again if he had sustained those injuries in Bicetre, and my sudden scrutiny made him uncomfortable and embarrassed.

"She's your daughter, and she's worried about you. I can make it dark in here. Very dark, and she will be kept from getting too close in any case. I wouldn't want her to accidentally injure you more."

"No, Madame Novelli. She will see me once I have mustered the strength to go upstairs, my...face, as it were, has healed, and I have been able to retrieve items that I use to preserve my dignity. I will not have my daughter frightened of me, and having nightmares for the rest of her life should she happen to catch a glim – "

He stopped and gritted his teeth when I laid my hand over his arm. From where I sat I was facing what I knew he would term as the terrible side of his face. I knew every word that would come out of his mouth without him ever speaking them. Everything he thought about himself was written in his expression. Into the cold fear that settled inside his eyes, and in the shame that colored his neck and face. _I_ felt cold inside, unable to think of anything to say to him. Doubtless he had heard many things during his life, and I didn't even know where to start.

"She loves you," I whispered. "We'll figure something out – "

"No," he breathed, his nostrils flaring in anger.

I moved off the bed and went to the other side, pulling his shirt from the chair that had been abandoned earlier. "You need to put this on. You're going to get cold tonight."

"It's easier without the shirt," he muttered, glaring down at his useless, injured arm. "Just leave me alone. I'll be fine."

"Right," I snorted, "you're going to freeze to death, and then we'll have to figure out what to do with your body. Humor me, please. I really don't want to have to roll you out the front door."

Erik continued to scowl, and complain, though he did it quietly. I held the shirt open wide for the right arm, then slid it up over his shoulder. Erik winced as I draped the rest around his shoulders and he was forced to twist around to position his left arm through the hole. He sucked in a breath each time my fingers slid along his skin, and I wasn't sure if it was because he was hurting, or because he was as nervous as I was. Or perhaps it was the way he was forced to lean against me, our cheeks touching and my hands around his bare, broad back as I brushed the ends of the shirt down around his lower body. He met my eyes for single, charged moment as I adjusted the collar on his shirt and brushed his hair away from his eyes.

When I finished he finally sank gratefully to the pillows, and I could see he needed the blood cleaned around his forehead again. I knew it would be a fight if I even offered.

"Do you want me to button it?" I asked, pulling the shirt gingerly across his chest, admiring the shape of his torso. He was very fit, and despite the bruises I could tell he was in very good health. I particularly liked how he was not covered in excess hair the way Zachary had been. Erik's spread from his chest down to his navel, trailing in a fine and faint line into his trousers. I felt myself grow warm as I averted my eyes from going any lower. Already he had given me a reason to slap him, although honestly I didn't believe it was a controllable thing for any man.

"You're giving me options now?" he practically spit at me, and I glanced up, very surprised to see him angry. He had been seething while I had been thinking of running my hand across his stomach, and leaning in for a dreadfully shocking kiss.

"Erik-"

"I think I prefer you to call me Monsieur Chartraine," he interrupted, frowning mightily.

"You said I could call you whatever I pleased," I said stubbornly. "Remember?"

He began to lift his shoulder, then winced as pain shot through him. Or peaceful truce over, I watched his face begin to pale as his arm began throbbing, and he began cursing. While he was distracted, I gathered my cloth and began cleaning his forehead. He stilled immediately as I swiped at his reddened flesh, his manner becoming self conscious and wary.

"I don't want you here," he whispered. I met his eyes, seeing the despair and humiliation there. He did want me here. But he did not want me to see him like this, or care for him. Or look at his face and head, so uncovered before my eyes.

I swallowed a mountain of kind words, knowing it would only anger him further. I could tell him again how sorry I was. I could try to heal something inside of him by telling him that there was nothing wrong with him. I could do many things, but they wouldn't be welcome. I was his employee. Nothing more. It wasn't inappropriate for me to care for him in this manner. He was injured, and I felt it was mostly my fault. But I could not cross the line and tell him that I had developed a soft spot where he was concerned, despite the kiss. I would feel mortified to admit that his well being mattered to me, and that I found his grouchiness and fussing nature irresistible. I couldn't do any of those things, because I didn't know what his intentions were, and now was not the time to find them out. But if I was strong enough to resist asking, I could continue to care for him.

"What you want doesn't matter. Charlotte needs you, so if this helps you get better," I said firmly, breaking eye contact and bathing his temple and cheek gently, "then so be it."

"Then you may send Madame du Brul!" he shouted, knocking my hand away from his face with his good arm. "I don't want _you_ here, Madame Novelli. _You,_ specifically."

I sat back on the bed beside him as he continued to glare at me in anger. Why he had suddenly become so anxious to get rid of me, I was not sure, but I did know he was furious with me without a rational reason. I had already seen his face and not given him any reason to think I found him appalling. So why had he become so frustrated? Ah. Perhaps I knew the answer to that; without thinking to hard...and looking.

"You've already successfully frightened Madame du Brul, and you'll be lucky if she remains here by the time you've recovered," I said mildly. "And I highly doubt your cook will do anything more than feed you, so you're stuck with me."

"Get out!" he demanded, gritting his teeth as I tried to begin cleaning him again. He snatched the rag from my hand, glowering at me with tight lips, but it was when he met my eyes that I froze.

He was panicked. He felt cornered, and he was scared. Far beneath the fear there was fury, but I could tell that the most obvious reaction he had to me caring for him was raw terror. I had never seen a man in such wounded agony. He was hurting, and frightened of letting anyone touch him. I could do nothing more than try to slip past his barriers and help him to his feet. If he would even allow my touch.

"I won't hurt you," I said softly, and his eyes flew to mine, showing his revulsion and horror at my perceptive nature. "I let you out of that cage, Erik. I would never hurt you."

"You're damn right you won't," he said angrily. "Because I want you to leave, right now, damn you! Get out, Madame Novelli. Get out, before I call you on what you promised me! And you won't like it," he said, lowering his voice, his eyes showing pure malice. "You won't like it at all. Now get out."

I regarded him steadily for several moments, not willing to allow him to see the fear that had crawled up my spine. I had been almost certain I knew what he wanted, but looking at him now, I wasn't sure of anything.

"Very well," I finally said, sitting back and raising my brows at him. "You may take care of yourself. Your face is bleeding again. And in a few hours, you will need the bandages of your leg changed. Since you're so capable, I will leave you all alone." I said the last two words in a soft snarl, irritated with him for behaving so boorishly.

He said nothing as I left the room, and when I returned much calmer two hours later, he had vanished.


	48. A Reason

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

_Erik_

It was easy making it from the bed to the door hidden inside the room. It was fairly easy to navigate through the passageway when I could support myself on the walls. Climbing the stairs, however, was a real pain in the ass. I would never admit I had scooted up them backwards, using one arm and one leg, rather like a crayfish. By the time I made it to the top, I could hear Evangeline calling my name, and muttering beneath her breath what an immature idiot I was. Wanting to slam the door, but not wanting her to hear, I let it shut softly and leaned against it, wondering how I would make it the thirty some odd feet to my bed. It was like a distant, untouchable dream, and instead I stumbled past my small writing area and sank down onto the leather couch.

I cursed as my legs caught over an old pair of boots that I hadn't bothered to move, sending me down harder than I intended. I fell too close to the arm of the couch, and it jostled my elbow, sending pain shooting through every nerve in my body. I thought briefly I might either throw up, or pass out, but I only sweated and groaned. My head fell against the back of the couch and hit the wall behind it, giving me a headache, and I decided that it was all Evangeline's fault. I would have been content on the second floor if she hadn't continued bothering me. I would have been fine, if she had sent Madame du Brul. It never occurred to me that I could neither walk back downstairs to eat, nor change my own bandages with one hand. I had simply needed to be away from her before she decided any more of my clothing needed changing.

In my struggle to make it back upstairs, the shirt had fallen from my shoulders and trailed through the dust on the floor. I couldn't summon the energy to unbutton the cuffs to remove it, and truthfully didn't care. I closed my eyes, intending only to rest a moment, and felt myself slip into blissful sleep.

- -

I woke up in annoyance as a rag caressed my face. It was dark, and I could see nothing. For a moment I panicked, trying to move away from the source of contact. I knew I was in my room, and no one had ever been there before.

"Shhh," I heard a soft voice whisper.

"Evangeline?"

"It's me," she said, her voice low and calming. "Let me do this for you...please."

The rag met my face again, and ever nerve in my body urged me to scream. To push her away again. I shivered from the distaste that her touch brought me...or the distaste I was sure she felt towards me. She had seen me with nothing, and I hated that she had seen me beaten and humiliated. I wanted to go back and kill those men for ever touching me. For breathing. For being born.

"I can't see anything. I promise, it's too dark. Just let me help you."

"I don't want your help." I said wearily, but knew now that it would do no good. I had retreated as far from her as I could, and it never occurred to me to be angry with her for finding me up here.

"I know you don't," she whispered, and for a moment I felt her soft hand against my scarred flesh. I shrank back, trying to keep her from touching me, but she felt my face persistently. "It's quite swollen."

"It's always swollen," I said harshly. "Just leave, Madame. I don't know how you got up here-"

"I found a door," she said, and I could hear the pride in her tone. "And stop fighting me. It only makes it worse."

"Madame." I tried one last time, allowing the desperation to enter my voice. I choked on panic and nausea, and she touched my face again. Her hands caressed my jaw this time, the one part of the right side that was not deformed. Unfortunately, it was bruised, and hurt like hell. I hissed in pain, and she began apologizing immediately.

"Are you hungry?" she asked, after I had settled down, and the throbbing pain had diminished.

Unwilling to admit to needing anything from her, I merely grunted that I wanted a drink. I heard her hands begin fooling around with the lamp, and I turned my face away from hers as light settled around us.

"What time is it?" I grumbled, seeing the sky outside the window was quite dark.

"About five in the morning, I think."

"Have you gone to bed yet?" She looked better than she had before, with her hair down and a blue nightdress on. She had apparently been getting ready for bed when she decided to begin looking for me upstairs, or had just woken up. I averted my eyes immediately, wishing I had locked every single door in the house to prevent her from making it upstairs.

"For awhile. Then I became concerned that you might develop a fever, or bleed to death," she said softly.

"Where is Charlotte?" I mumbled, knowing my daughter could not see me like this, and wanting her with me more than anyone else. Part of the reason I had made this sojourn upstairs was so that she might not accidentally find me, or fear that the women would tak it into their own hands to force her to see me.

"Asleep. She has been asking for you. I told her you had fallen and hurt yourself. I hope that's alright."

"And...and your sister? How is Rebbecca?" I asked, trying to look anywhere but at her exposed throat, and the silk curtain of hair that trailed across her shoulder.

"Very weak. But she will live," she said quietly. "I can't thank you enough, Erik. For...for everything. Raoul stopped by late last night. The hospital has claimed," she paused and touched my hand for a moment, "that Victor died in an unfortunate accident, trying to save a patient who was lost in the sewage tunnels beneath the hospital."

"So he is dead?" I whispered, feeling a surge of relief in my body. Now he couldn't hurt her, or the other two women again. I may have been beaten...but he most certainly got what he deserved.

"Erik?" Evangeline whispered, and reached out and touched my face for a moment. The left side. The good side, and I closed my eyes and exhaled, wishing she could see me as something more than half a man. "Erik, we did what we had to do, to protect ourselves. You're a good man." She tilted her head when I snorted at her. "Before I came here, Raoul told me all sorts of things about you," she continued as I cringed inside. "I found most of them to be false. You are a good man. Maybe not at one time –"

"You mistake penance for goodness," I muttered. "I'm far from good, Evangeline. I've done things you don't know about." To you, I added silently, and it would get worse once I got better.

"I didn't come here to argue with you," she said lightly. "I'm going to go find you something to drink and then I'll help you into bed. Are you intending on staying up here?"

"It will be easier to make it to the bed, than back downstairs."

"Then rest for a few moments," she replied, leaving me to my guilty thoughts.

I was going to make her leave. Even after all she had done for me, I was still going to do it. Charlotte was as much of a reason as before, but now I had another reason for wanting her gone. Likely before she finished nursing me back to health she would notice how I felt for her. She would see...possibly had already...what I could not quite conceal. She had to leave, for my own peace of mind.

- -

She returned with a glass of orange juice and more laudanum, which she was more liberal with this time. I knew I could perhaps take it one more day, but after that I would have to bear the pain on my own. Laudanum made me feel pasty and weak...I would rather endure pain than look as if I were going to die at any moment. She insisted on cleaning my wounds again before I went to bed, and produced a pair of scissors to save me the agony of removing my shirt.

"I told you – " I said darkly as she cut another article of my clothing.

"It isn't polite to say I told you so's," she cut in, giving me a most proper and charming smile. "Didn't your mother ever teach you manners?"

My silence prompted her to look away, and she sat beside me as she cleaned my arm and rebandaged it. The wound to my leg had started bleeding again, naturally, and she gave me a look of her own that said what she thought of my retreat. I grimaced as she peeled back the layers of gauze, revealing a wound that looked neither healthy nor pretty.

"Goodness, you feel as if you're on fire," she gasped as she tentatively touched my leg. Immediately her hand shot to my face, feeling both cheeks and my forehead. "Not there...Erik, perhaps we should bring a doctor to see you as well."

''No.''

She bit her lip, obviously expecting that answer and thinking of a way to counter it. "Raoul is going to bring his own physician by this morning to see Rebbecca. Just let him look at your leg."

''Absolutely not. I'm not about to display myself for another doctor. Do you understand?'' I demanded, slapping her hand away when she tried to touch my face again. "Why are you doing this? I am nothing to you. I can take care of myself, and I don't need you up here gawking at me either."

"I am not gawking at you!" she retorted, and put her hand against my face again anyway. "I am trying to keep you from losing your leg...or your life. Do you honestly think that I am up here to serve some morbid curiosity?"

I felt my heart shrink at her words, and turned away. I didn't know why she was here. I had no idea what purpose it would serve for her to keep tending to me in this manner, and I most certainly was not brave enough to ask. What I had expected and what I had received from her so far were such different things I found myself wanting to believe that daydream I had in the library. Of her looking at me and finding acceptance. Of her eyes glowing with inner fire and desire for me. I wanted to know if I could kiss her senseless, and make her respond to me the way she had the night outside the hospital.

"Erik, the only thing I want is to make you feel better. To prevent you from doing yourself more harm, or laying up here helpless and alone. Do you really want me to leave? Stay here without any help at all?" she asked, and I felt her hand against my neck, then she rubbed my shoulder in a friendly and sweet gesture. The touch of her hand was like magic, and I bit back a hundred things that would have hopefully sent her from the room. I ached for her immediately after she stopped and had returned her hands to her lap, still waiting for my answer. Still waiting...and we were both holding our breaths.

"You may come up here," I said gruffly. "No one else. And don't go poking your nose through my things, or in any of the other passageways."

She smiled. "You have an interesting home."

"Do I? I hadn't really noticed."

"Erik, I'm only going to say this once." I looked at her, and she was still smiling. I could already feel my face turning red, because there was something particularly saucy about the way her lips were curved. "If I ever find out there was a _reason_ I needed to cover my mirror up...you're going to be sorry."


	49. Far From Finished

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

_Eva_

Once I cleaned his leg, we struggled together towards his bed, and afterwards he needed to be cleaned again. One look around his room and I knew that he had intended to hole up here alone, content to either die in privacy, or lick his wounds like an abused dog. The place was such a cluttered mess, it looked as if he never had any intention of leaving again, and in the center of it all was a gigantic bed, about three times more massive than Charlotte's rose bed. This one looked sinful, and had sheets darker blue than any I had ever seen before in the early morning light that shone through the beveled square windows encompassing the entire room. Where there wasn't a door, there was a window, and there were quite a few of both.

"Do you want more laudanum?" I asked, swiping gently at his brow. Not to clean blood this time, but to ease the nausea that had beset him after all his movement.

Erik shook his head slightly, then closed his eyes as I continued to mother over him. He said nothing as I bathed his sweating flesh, and I could tell he was beginning to feel a little feverish everywhere. I could only pray that he didn't develop an infection and have to lose his leg entirely, or much worse, his life. Despite his protests, I was going to ask the doctor to have a look at his leg, and I didn't care if he fired me for it or not. At least he would live, and I wouldn't agonize over him another night like I had the previous one.

I had been so angry with him I could have spit nails, and Madame du Brul had advised me to sleep and let him suffer wherever he was, and that I could find him in the morning. And I had fallen into a fitful sleep, waking at each small noise and thinking it was Erik calling for help. I had finally given up and begun searching for the door inside the wall outside my room, and after several bungled pathways, I had found one of many staircases leading to the third floor.

"Is there anything I can do for you?" I whispered, and he shook his head again. "Then rest," I said simply. "And I will come check on you in a couple of hours."

I lit a small fire in his enormous hearth, and covered him up with as many blankets as I could find. Dust was everywhere, and I frowned at that, thinking it probably wasn't good for his leg to be exposed to anything unsanitary.

But he looked far too tired to argue with me, and I stifled the impulse to kiss his forehead before I left. Charlotte was already awake when I went down, and standing in my room on what looked to be the verge of a tantrum.

"Where have you been?" she demanded, her hands on her hips.

"Charlotte," I said, my tone warning her to stop. "That is no way to speak to me."

"Where have you been?" she asked again, and not sounding the least bit contrite.

I ignored her and pushed her out the door so I could dress, and immediately I heard her throw something at my door. It sounded a lot like a shoe, and the resulting thwump on the wall again confirmed she had thrown them both. I sighed. I had no idea how Erik wanted me to punish her. Christine had not allowed me to swat her as my father had done to me. I knew without asking Erik would not want it either, but I had been far too lenient on her since her mother's death. I had let her do whatever she pleased, and for the most part her tantrums were of a colder nature where she refused to speak to me or anyone else.

Since Erik had met with her she hadn't shown the slightest interest in throwing a tantrum. Most likely because he gave her whatever she wanted, without her ever having to ask.

"Charlotte!" I yelled through the door as I struggled with my hair. "Stop that, right this instant!"

Something else hit the door, and I heard it shatter. I marched over to open the door just as another object was flung, and it hit the wall beside my head.

"Oh, that's it, little lady!" I strode across the hall and found her clutching a glass figurine, arm reared back and prepared to hurl. "No more of this, or I'll teach you manners you've long since forgotten."

She threw it at the ground at my feet, smiling as she watched it break. "Where is he?" she demanded.

"Your father is resting. He's very tired, and he finally was able to return to his own bed last night," I replied calmly, taking a breath to ensure I didn't smack her backside. She was behaving like her mother, and I wanted nothing more than to cure her of Christine's antics.

"I want to see him."

"I told you that was not possible," I said quietly. "And don't you dare throw another thing. In fact...I want you to retrieve a broom from the kitchen...and clean this mess up yourself."

"_What?"_

"You heard me," I said mildly. "Go, before I tell your father how you've been behaving, and he decides to punish you himself."

Her eyes widened as she considered this. Raoul had never disciplined her at all, but naturally when he told her to do something, she did it without question. It always amazed my mother that no matter how many times she shouted at me to do something, all my father needed to do was repeat it...usually much quieter, and much slower. And once was all it usually took.

"Yes, Eva," she whispered, then slipped meekly past me and darted down the stairs.

I breathed a sigh of relief as I went to see Rebbecca. Her eyes were open when I entered the room, and she squinted in the dim room until I flung the curtains wide open to let in the light.

"Good morning," I said cheerfully, a forced smile on my face. I prayed that she was able to talk, that she could regain all of her strength, and that her memory of that place would eventually diminish.

"Eva," she whispered, her voice weak and reedy.

"Oh, God. You can speak." I rushed forward and took her hand, finding it warm for the first time since we had taken her. "Rebbecca...are you alright? Is there anything you need? Ask, and it's yours."

I kissed her hand, and she squeezed back, giving me a wan smile. "Where am I?"

"You're safe," I told her, brushing away tears. "I'm so sorry, Rebbecca. So sorry I didn't get you out of there sooner."

"Where is he?" she whimpered, looking smaller and more frightened as she thought of her husband.

"You are a widow," I said softly. "Victor died."

Rebbecca closed her eyes and a small smile crossed her lips. "You saved me, Eva?"

"I helped. Really, you owe your thanks to a man named Erik. But he's not feeling well, so you may not see him for awhile." My eyes flickered away from hers for a moment, but I stamped down the thoughts of him in that cage, and the feral look in his eyes as he'd lain there bloody and beaten. "How do _you_ feel?"

"So tired," she admitted. "Very weak...and," she blushed, "I'm quite hungry."

"I imagine you are. You weigh no more than seven stone."

"Was that you yelling earlier?" she asked, frowning slightly.

"My charge. Charlotte is my employers daughter," I said softly, feeling a pang of regret for the way we had behaved towards one another this morning. Or really towards the way she could behave towards me sometimes, and I had no right to correct her the way I saw fit. I was not her mother, and I hated having to remind myself of that constantly.

"She sounds like you," she whispered, then smiled. "Always yelling."

"I didn't always yell," I protested, then felt my own face heat. "Well...not always."

"I missed you, Eva," she said softly, then closed her eyes. "I used to dream that you rescued me. I used to think about you...about how stupid I was to trust Victor. I'm sorry I...Oh," she stopped and wiped away a tear that fell across her cheek. "I'm just sorry."

"You have nothing to be sorry for," I said gently, and sank down on the bed beside her. "You're going to be fine, Rebbecca. You're safe now, and no one will ever hurt you again."

We both dried our eyes quickly when someone knocked on the door. Lacey stuck her head in and smiled brightly. "Good. You're awake. The doctor and Monsieur de Chagny are here."

She opened the door wider and admitted an older man carrying a black medical bag, and Raoul, who stared at my sister with an expression of horror on his face. He had seen her the first night, and had told me he thought Victor was a monster and Erik was justified even if he had killed him. Rebbecca tried to lift her hands over her bare head, but her arms were too weak to even try, and she looked at me with a desperate fire in her eyes.

"My hair," she whispered, her voice catching. "Eva."

"Shhh," I murmured, then took a towel beside the bed and draped it over her head, then tucked the edges behind her ears. She looked like a waif like nun, rather than a balding, half-starved woman. "It will all come back."

"Ah, yes," the doctor said cheerfully. "I have it on good authority your hair will come back, Madame. It will take time, but you should do well once you've regained your weight. A terrible thing, those foreign prisons."

I looked at Raoul, and he shook his head slightly with his lips pursed. We watched as the doctor listened to her breathing, then prodded around on her body for several moments. Rebbecca grew quiet, her gaze fixed on the wall and she didn't answer any of the doctors questions about the treatment she had received in _Tunisia_, though she did glance at Raoul occasionally, obviously wondering who he was.

"She needs to put on some weight, certainly," the doctor said, finally pulling the blankets back over her spindly legs. "And plenty of rest, plenty of water. But also, getting out of this bed will help her regain her strength. She doesn't need to walk a mile," he chuckled, though no one laughed. "But certainly putting her upright in a chair near the window for a few hours a day wouldn't hurt. Now, where is my other patient?"

I looked at Raoul, and felt my heart drop. Could I do it? I knew how Erik would feel if I took the doctor upstairs. I knew he would be so angry with me, likely he'd fire me on the spot. But what if I didn't? What if he died from an infection? What if he was sick right this minute?

"Other patient?" I whispered.

"Yes, I'm told he could be in much worse shape than this one. So where is he?" the doctor demanded.

"I..."

"Evangeline, I will accept any blame that Erik wishes to toss my way. But his room was empty," Raoul said quietly.

I cleared my throat. "He has gone upstairs. I don't think its wise..."

"Nonsense. I was told he has been shot," the doctor said, snapping his case shut and patting Rebbecca's shoulder. "Now, I demand to see him at once."

- -

Erik was writhing when I finally summoned the courage to take them both upstairs. Raoul had actually smiled when I had opened the wall, but said nothing at the doctor's confused look. He forgot all his questions the moment he saw the man on the bed, groaning and sweating in agony. In the two hours I had been gone he had developed a raging fever, and seemed to be half out of his head.

Not out so much that he didn't notice the presence of two men staring at him, and he met my eyes promising his revenge.

"What have we here?" the doctor murmured, looking at Erik's exposed leg.

"I've been cleaning it regularly with peroxide," I said softly.

"Peroxide?" he grunted. "Yes...it will keep it clean, but takes longer to heal. I'll give you another antiseptic for it, and some quinine that will hopefully dispel this fever." He glanced up to find Erik scowling at him as he prodded at his leg, though Erik didn't say anything. Patiently he cleaned the wound, nodding when he saw that all the blood was red and healthy, not having any sort of pus or discoloration. "If he loses any more blood, he's likely going to die."

"But the leg?" I asked, glancing nervously at Erik, who glared at me.

"I don't think he will lose it, unless infection sets in and is not treated. You were right to call me, Monsieur de Chagny. This man is obviously very wounded. Now, let's have a look at that arm."

He hesitated a moment then sat down beside Erik on the bed. It was hard not to notice the look of curiosity on the doctors face as he glanced up at Erik, but each look was met with a scowl, despite the sweating and heated flesh, and the constant pain.

"The arm looks much better. It won't take as long to heal," he confirmed, then rebandaged him quickly once he dressed the wound with his own medicine. "Has he been taking anything besides the laudanum?"

"No," Erik answered clearly, and the doctor looked at him with surprise.

"He speaks," he said softly, giving him a wry smile. "I thought perhaps they had cut your tongue out as well."

The doctor stood up and touched Erik's head, inspecting his stitches, and I turned away as those hate filled green eyes fell on me. Raoul stood to the side with his arms crossed over his chest, looking around the room in apparent awe.

"I speak perfectly fine, in any language," Erik replied, and I met his eyes for a moment. "Thank you, but I believe you are finished with me. Evangeline, you may stay. I'm far from finished with you."

- -

Seven stone equals 98 pounds


	50. Internal Fire

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

_Erik_

Before Eva could move, Raoul had stepped in front of her and given me a hard look. "Evangeline, you may take the doctor downstairs. I will deal with him."

"You will deal with me?" I asked, unable to stop the mockery, though I knew full well I couldn't defend myself if he felt the need to attack me. My head was pounding, and I was sweating from every pore on my body. I watched as the doctor poured some powder into a glass, and set it beside my bed, raising his eyebrows at my tone.

"Oh, Monsieur, I don't think it's wise," she whispered, giving me a pleading look.

"Go on, Evangeline. I want to see how Monsieur de Chagny thinks he will deal with me."

"Now see here," the doctor blustered. "I think this patient needs rest, and nothing more until he's over this bloody fever. Now you all take yourselves downstairs and I'll – "

"Do nothing, as I did not require your services. Now you may go."

He stared at me a moment, then shuffled back towards the open door, muttering to himself. Evangeline glanced back at me for a moment, then fled, leaving me alone with Raoul.

"Feeling betrayed?" he asked quietly, his lips quirking slightly. "You always see yourself as the injured party, don't you?"

"I never expect anything less than betrayal."

He sank down in a chair on the opposite side of the bed, and propped his boots against the mattress. "You know, it honestly surprises me how little regard you have for yourself. You inspire loyalty in the oddest people, yet you trust no one and they will never convince you otherwise, will they?"

"You're blabbering about something, de Chagny. I cannot, I must confess, see your point," I returned, closing my eyes as my head began to swim.

"Evangeline didn't betray you. I'm surprised that you think she would after the way she clung to that cart trying to stay with you. That guard had his hands right up her dress, but did she complain to you? No. She kicked him, and screamed, and did what was necessary to try and save you." He chuckled slightly. "Little good she was doing, but it was interesting."

He'd had his hands up her dress? I saw red, but did nothing. It would require too much effort to retort, and I simply didn't feel as if I had enough to even open my eyes.

"She does have nice legs," I whispered, then realized what I had said out loud when he laughed.

"You're growing delirious."

"No. She really does have nice legs. Long...muscled. Very nice," I continued, and may have even licked my lips. The doctor had left me a glass of wine mixed with quinine, and I fumbled for it and knocked over a box beside the bed. I heard Raoul get up, and opened my eyes long enough to see him pick the box up, then grin at me.

"Yes...this one has nice legs as well." He showed me my lost postcards, then set them back on the bed inside the box. "Rather short, but shapely."

"Get out of my house."

He chuckled again. "I really find you a better person when you're like this. I must admit it's hard to hate you any longer."

"Not so hard for me," I replied, fixing him with a fever induced glare. I struggled to sit up, and drank the glass of wine slowly, feeling a rush from both the alcohol and the fever. "I hate you more with every breath I take."

"Evangeline is loyal to you. That is all I wanted to say. Don't be angry with her for bringing a doctor up here, simply because she was worried about you. It was my idea in the first place." I was certain I rolled my eyes, or at least I tried, because he scoffed. "Honestly, you have no idea how much loyalty you have inspired in her. Especially in that odd woman you rescued. Your grouchy housekeeper, and that gigantic German woman who you call a cook. Most certainly in your daughter." He paused, then took the wine glass from me. "Even Christine."

I snorted. "Yes, I can see how you think she was loyal."

"Do you think my wife would have done what she did with you, if she didn't feel a certain amount of loyalty?"

I closed my eyes, feeling my tongue loosen of its own accord. I knew I would regret it later...God, I knew I would regret it later, but it rolled from my mouth anyway. "Pity. That was all she felt for me."

"You hurt her, Erik," he said, and I opened my eyes to find him watching me. "The reasons she left you are not what you think."

I didn't answer, or question him any further. I could hear someone clomping back up my stairs, and breathed a sigh of relief when I saw it was Evangeline.

"Your daughter is driving me insane." She snatched the glass out of Raoul's hand and inspected it. "Did he drink this?" she demanded.

"I did," I replied, seeing her face flush when she looked at me. "What has she done?"

"She has broken every single one of her glass figurines that her mother bought for her, and was intent on destroying several of your own possessions when Madame du Brul rescued them from her chubby little hands. Now she has begun a tantrum because she let her dog out hours ago, and no one can find her." She glared at me as if I had started the whole thing.

"She broke them?" Raoul repeated. "The doll figurines?"

"Every last one, save for the few that I never unpacked. Then she tried to throw a very expensive looking Asian vase from his balcony, as well as throwing marbles at his hall mirrors. She's just like – "

She stopped and clamped her lips shut, but Raoul finished for her. "Like Christine."

"What do you expect me to do?" I whispered, feeling like my head was going to catch fire.

Evangeline frowned and sat next to me, feeling my face. "Nothing. I will take care of her," she said softly. "Just rest. I'm sorry I disturbed you with that."

I closed my eyes as she began to bathe my forehead, then my throat. I wasn't sure for a moment who she was, or who I was, then I blinked and recalled everything with startling clarity, though it made my head buzz to concentrate.

"Erik," Raoul said quietly, and I managed to move my head enough to look at him, though I never seemed to focus on him. "Why don't you allow me to take Charlotte for a few days? Your household is likely disturbing her, with all these sick patients and doctors."

Evangeline sighed. "I hadn't even considered that."

"My daughter..."

"I know she's yours," he said, his voice sounding distant and fuzzy. "I will return her to you in a few days."

"Mine...," I gasped, my back arching from the bed as fire shot through me. I blinked again, trying to focus on something...on anything. But there was nothing there. Nothing, except the gentle touch of a red headed vixen, with the spirit of a virago...or perhaps she was really an angel.

"He's burning up," I heard someone say. "Yes...I think you should take her. Bring her back tomorrow for a little visit. Take Madame du Brul with you, so he won't have..."

I lost the rest of the conversation as I sank into an inky black world, where raging fire and pain were diminished, and the fear of letting my daughter go was abandoned.

- -


	51. Bed Company

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

_Eva_

At my insistence, Raoul rushed back downstairs and fetched the doctor while I continued to bathe Erik's face. He was mumbling incoherently for the most part, though I did hear him say my name several times. That shouldn't have quickened my pulse, because in the next moment he would say Christine, then Charlotte. But each time he said my name...and not the formal _Evangeline_, he always used with a trace of sarcasm, but Eva, which everyone but him called me by...my pulse did indeed race.

"I'm here," I whispered, and his eyes opened for a moment, bright with fever.

"Firebird," he whispered back, then sighed my name.

"Erik?"

He didn't answer, and I ran the wet clothe over his stomach, and across his shoulders, watching gooseflesh arise immediately. Both of his hands clenched, and so tightly that his right arm began to bleed. I took his hand in mine and touched his face, murmuring to him until he settled some.

"How is he?" the doctor asked, looking bewildered to have been summoned again.

"His fever just spiked, I'm afraid," I said softly, then moved to stand beside Raoul as the doctor examined him. It didn't escape my notice that before he did anything, he touched the right side of Erik's face, then frowned.

"What happened to him?" he asked.

"He was shot," I said evenly.

That answer didn't appease him at all, as he was still focused on Erik's face. He pinched the flesh gingerly, then drew back as Erik's eyes opened.

"Monsieur?"

"Stop," Erik whispered, twisting his face away from him. "Stop...don't take it."

"Dr. DeBoie, could you just concentrate on his current injuries?" Raoul said patiently.

"Of course," he responded, then placed a thermometer beneath Erik's arm.

I drew Raoul aside as the doctor took his temperature, breathing a sigh of relief when the man was content to examine his arm, rather than his face. My heart had grown still when he had tried to escape inspection, even in his sleep.

"If you take Charlotte, you must bring her back every day, even if she cannot stay but a few moments."

"I'm not certain that dragon housekeeper of his will allow her to leave," he replied, looking back at Erik. "I'm definitely not certain I want to take her with me."

"You must, because Erik is going to be furious when he finds out she's gone." I bit my lip, glancing back at his body. "But I don't think I can handle all three of them at once. Erik, Rebbecca, and Charlotte, that is. Lacey is certainly a help, but Madame du Brul has staunchly refused to come up here and help me with him. Not after she elbowed his leg injury."

"A wise woman," he said quietly, then grinned. "What are you going to do once he realizes she's gone?"

"I'm going to explain why I allowed her to leave. And if he has a problem with it, then he has only himself to blame for getting himself shot."

I shrugged off any doubts I had that he would find my explanation rational. He was too sick to see his daughter, and I was ready to pull my hair out. Sending her with Raoul was the only logical choice, and once he had mentioned patients and doctors, I had known why she was really upset.

"And if she wants to come back unexpectedly, I trust you will not deny her request."

He smiled again. "Have I ever denied her anything?"

"No," I said, then impulsively patted his arm. "You are good to her. I hope the two of you can work something out after this is over." I hesitated, because I saw something flicker in his eyes. Something that looked like hope...and also compassion. "Do you still hate him, Monsieur?"

Raoul shook his head, looking sad and vulnerable all at once. "How can I hate him? The contention between us is gone, and honestly, the battle wasn't as hard to fight as claiming the prize. My marriage was nothing like I expected, and I don't think what they shared was anything remotely normal. Erik has placed my wife on this unreachable pedestal, and refuses to see her in any light other than heavenly." He glanced over at Erik, then back at me. "We both know my wife was not as perfect as she appeared. She was human, just like the rest of us, and she made terrible choices. He thinks he wasn't worth having, but she didn't leave him because of that."

"Then why did she?" I whispered, wanting to know more, and not wanting to hear it in the same instant.

"Because, Eva," he sighed, "I told you Erik was a deceitful man. You refuse to believe me, and that is your right. But he shattered her illusion. Something she desperately wanted to believe in. And she never forgave him for that."

- -

Raoul left, taking a suddenly placid Charlotte and hesitant Madame du Brul with him. I cried when I let her go, but she assured me she would have fun at her Papa Raoul's house, and for the moment seemed to forget why she had been breaking things the better part of the day.

I checked on Rebbecca, and found Lacey feeding her a simple meal of roast and potatoes, and drew her a bath while she finished her meal. She was feeling extremely self conscious, not only because of her hair, but because of the condition of her body. It was easy to get her into the bath. All we had to do was lift her, then undress her quickly before we laid her in the bubbled water. She sighed and smiled as we washed her scalp, and I washed her back for her as Lacey scrubbed her legs and feet.

"Oh, Eva," she whispered, and I grinned down at her delighted expression. She was still tired and weak, but at least she would be clean.

"You're going to get spoiled," I teased her, but she only smiled more. "And I shall enjoy every last moment of it, as long as you never leave me again."

"Never," she whispered, her eyes turning dark with shadows. "I don't want to ever leave this place. I feel so safe. Where is my rescuer? Lacey has been telling me all about him. Did he really wear a mask? And..."

"Yes," I said gently. "Erik...Erik is a very good man. And he won't let anything happen to you."

"And what about the other one?" she asked, then closed her eyes as I rinsed her hair. "I don't think I want to see him again. He looked at me very queerly."

"Monsieur de Chagny?"

Lacey sighed. "Oh, now there is one handsome man. And a Vicomte too. Of course, I think Erik is much more interesting than a stuffy aristocrat."

"A Vicomte?" Rebbecca squeaked, then sat up with surprising strength. "You let a Vicomte look at me in this state?"

She groaned as I rinsed her hair again, and I grimaced as more hair came away from her scalp. "Rebbecca, I think I should just cut the rest of this off. We can find you a nice hairpiece until your own comes back in."

"In red?" she asked, turning to look at me hopefully. "Oh, but I hate to lose it _all_."

"She's right," Lacey said, frowning. "You should just cut the rest off. You look quite ridiculous with all those bare spots."

"Oh." Rebbecca's cheeks turned red, then she leaned back and covered her small breasts. "Very well. Cut it off."

Lacey left to retrieve a pair of scissors, and I continued washing around her face and along her neck.

"My ears," she whispered, then smiled slightly. "Please clean my ears."

"As you wish," I said, then ran the rag around her ears. "You are looking much better today. I hope you are well enough sit beside the window tomorrow."

"What day is it?" she asked, opening her eyes.

"November the fifteenth."

"What year?"

I stared at her blankly, unable to respond for several moments. She didn't know the year? How horrible, to not even remember the year...not be able to count the days, or to lose track so badly that you were not sure of anything.

"Eighteen seventy – five. Rebbecca, do you want to talk about that place?"

"No. Not ever," she replied softly. "I just want to forget it. My God, I've just realized that I'm twenty three years old. Look at me...I'm horrible!"

She began to cry, and I held her in the water awkwardly, knowing that her vanity was the least of her worries. "You are a Stirling, and a Novelli," I reminded her. "You are strong, and beautiful, and a survivor."

Rebbecca hiccuped, then looked at me with red, swollen eyes. "A survivor?" she repeated, looking at me with hope.

"You are strong. You survived that place. Never doubt that you can do anything again. Don't worry about this," I whispered, stroking her hair, and her skeletal back. "These things can be changed. It is what's in your heart that determines you. And you are strong. Stronger than Mama and Papa. Even stronger than me, because I'm certain I could not have survived all these years without at least one cherry tart."

She chuckled, and wiped her eyes. "Cherry tarts, huh? Where do you suppose we could find one of those at this time of day? I was told I needed to fatten up."

- -

Erik fever was still raging when I returned to him, and I stoked the fire in the grate to fight the growing chill in the room. Despite his warning, I found myself poking through his room while he pitched on the bed, finding what I believed to be several of his books. He wrote about vampires, which I found ironic, and supernatural beings who inhabited evil or enchanted forests. I found irony there as well, and also in a volume about a reluctant hermit who found love with a daft woman.

I smiled, but knew I would never say anything regarding Christine, though I had yet to read it. I painstakingly changed his sheets, which required a good bit of grunting on my part, and a great deal of flailing limbs for his. He occasionally looked at me, which was disconcerting, though he did nothing more than mutter to leave him in peace.

And I did notice when he whispered my name every so often, because each time he did it sent a chill through my spine, and fire into my heart. I loved to hear my name on his fevered lips, and couldn't resist touching his face and placing a kiss at the corner of his mouth. If I hadn't been too nervous I would have done much more, but as it was he opened his eyes and looked at me right as I leaned down to kiss him. The fact that he didn't kiss me back told me he knew nothing of my inappropriate actions.

I felt myself grow tired after I had ventured downstairs for a quick meal, including a side trip to Rebbecca with a cherry tart that Hilda had only been too happy to make. Feeling decidedly risky, I climbed onto the bed with him and studied him while he slept. He was quite asleep, I knew, and I didn't feel like going to my room. I drifted off beside him, remembering what Rebbecca had said about feeling safe. Lying with him only a few inches away (the bed was large enough that it could have been a few feet, but I found myself very close to him despite the ample room), I felt safer than I had ever been in my life.

- -

I woke when the light was streaming through the windows, and I stared at the intricate pattern on the ceiling for several moments, thinking that it had to be the most interesting ceiling I had ever seen. He liked ornate patterns, things that I didn't think anyone would ever consider placing on a ceiling. This was a repeat of fleur de lis, combined with a twining rose vine that wrapped around a large coffered section with a glass hexagonal window at the top.

"Oh," I breathed, sitting up for a better look.

"Enchanting, isn't it?" Erik rumbled beside me.

I spun around to face him, feeling a blush spread from my head to my toes. He was sitting up in bed, sipping a glass of water and watching me with still fevered eyes.

"Good morning," I whispered, sliding off the bed and straightening my clothes. "I'm sorry...I was very tired, and you were so sick..."

He gazed off across the room, an expressionless face and equally neutral eyes. "Yes, well, next time you crawl into my bed..."

I flushed again and moved around to the other side, immediately feeling his forehead. "Your fever has gone down, but it hasn't quite vanished." I stirred another quinine powder into a glass of wine, seeing that he had a nicer selection up here than he kept downstairs. "Do you remember anything about last night?"

"Why?" he asked quickly, his gaze sharpening.

"No reason." I tapped the spoon against the side of the glass, then handed it to him and took his water away. He took a drink, and I stepped back. "Raoul took Charlotte home with him."

He spluttered wine all over himself, then seemed to lose every ounce of color. "By God, woman, I am praying right now that you are joking."


	52. A Morning Visitor

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

_Erik_

Evangeline backed away from me with wide eyes, shaking her head slightly. "Come here, damn you," I growled, and she stopped moving, though she didn't approach the bed. "You will tell me right now what the devil you are talking about, and if my daughter is not here..."

"I'm sorry," she whispered. "I couldn't handle all three of you at once, and he's going to bring her back today. Madame du Brul went with her, so really there is no reason for y –"

"No reason? _No reason?_" I grabbed the edge of the bed and tried to swing my leg over, resulting in a horrendous pain shooting through me. The groan that escaped from my mouth urged her forward, and she sat beside me and bathed my forehead. Irritated, I knocked her hand away and grasped her wrist, ensuring she could not escape me. "I want my daughter returned to this house. Immediately," I said, as quietly as I could manage with pain screaming through me.

"She is coming back today," she repeated, her eyes filled with worry. She tried to pull her hand away, and I pulled back, drawing her closer.

"You broke a very important rule, Evangeline. Several of them, actually," I said slowly. "Your duplicity is noted, and I have a good memory, even during a fever."

She stopped struggling, and her eyes widened. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Judging by the look on her face, she had done something else to me that she didn't want me to know about. Or had I said something during the night that had prompted her to lay beside me? Or was there more...had something actually happened that I didn't even remember?

"It means I have an excellent memory," I said, then gave her a wicked smile.

"Oh," she blushed, and couldn't hide her own smile. "I didn't mean anything by that...I'm very sorry."

I felt an ache spread through me, wondering what she had done...or what we had done. Everything was a raging blur, and I couldn't think even now above the pounding in my head. Whether it was from the fever, or something else entirely, I was no longer sure. I relaxed my grasp on her wrist, brushing my thumb over her pulse. I could feel it wild in her veins, and the way her eyes slid closed at my touch burned me in a way I hadn't thought possible.

When I had first opened my eyes, I hadn't noticed her sleeping beside me. What I had noticed was the way she had twined her hand with mine, holding me against her chest as if to keep me near in her sleep. My own heart raced as I thought of a million things I could have done to her while I had been out, and I cursed inwardly that I could not remember a single thing. Surely if I had attacked her, she would have slapped me. And wasn't I too weak to do that anyway? I wasn't sure, but I could have definitely summoned the strength to pull her across my lap just then...if not the courage. When I had first seen her lying there, it had taken considerable self control not to reach for her. What would she have done if I had kissed her shoulder? Or her throat? The way my mouth felt at the moment, I was hesitant to think about kissing hers, but the thought of it was enough to stir every ounce of my blood.

"When is he bringing her back?" I asked, my voice unnaturally deep. I sounded as if I were already intoxicated with desire for her, and I had done nothing more than touch her wrist. I promptly released her, eager to subdue the beast of pleasure that threatened to leap from my chest.

"Today," she whispered, staring down at the floor. "I'm very sorry."

"Why did you feel the need to send her?"

She looked at me for a moment. "She was breaking things. Throwing them, trying to break your mirrors, and anything else she could get her hands on. Not only was I concerned that she might cut herself, but she was unruly, and I had no idea what way I was permitted to discipline her."

"Discipline?"

"Yes." She sighed. "My father would have taken me outside and switched me until I was ready to apologize and glue everything back together if necessary. But, she is not my child, and I was not permitted before to handle her in a way I deemed fit. I was not terribly affected by the way I was raised, and I seemed to have learned my lesson quickly where tantrums were concerned."

I grunted, and continued to drink the rest of my laced wine while she stared at me.

"What about you?" she whispered, and began to dry my chest and stomach where I had spit all over myself. "Was this a common punishment for you, Erik? Being beaten this badly?"

"Is my misfortune that obvious?" Her gaze fell on the right side of my face, soft and compassionate. My blood stirred again, this time not of sexual desire, but of some long forgotten emotion that I had tried for years to ignore: hope. I looked down at her hand, which had stilled across my stomach in her pursuit of spilled wine. "It was never this badly," I murmured. "Not until I was sent to Bicetre."

"And where were you before?" she asked, slowly beginning her swipe across my body.

"Before Bicetre I lived in a orphanage ran primarily by nuns, and their worst physical discipline was a ruler across the arms, or sometimes the back of the head. The other option was to spend hours on my knees, pretending to beg for God's forgiveness. I usually took the ruler."

"They sent you to that place?" she whispered, touching my chin for a moment until I looked at her.

"I got into too many fights. I was twelve or so, and they had been threatening to send me there if I did not behave." I shrugged, remembering the look of disappointment in one of the oldest sister's eyes. Sister Mary Catherine, who had spent more time with me than any of the others. She had taught me to read and write, and had not constantly reproached me for my growing insolent manner. "The other boys usually instigated the fight...and I usually finished it. But if I had known what an asylum was...I think I would rather have taken the beatings from boys my age."

"Did they do this to you?" she asked, and her hand slid up to touch my cheek.

I inhaled hard, and turned my face away from her. Bitterness and shame lodged in my throat, and I bit my lip to keep from giving in to the urge to cry. "No," I bit off, then clenched my teeth together. "I was always like this."

Evangeline's hand wandered up through my hair, and the burn in my stomach became something else. Her touch was so soft; so gentle. I wanted nothing more than to lean closer, to pull her down to me and touch her lips to mine. Years of denials and remembered laughter kept me away. I was nothing more than an object for her pity, and at the moment I could do nothing more than endure her touch. And enjoy it.

She would be thankful when I tossed her the key to the library and told her to retrieve the letter. She would be thankful she wouldn't have to face me when I had regained my strength, and knew that under other circumstances I never would have allowed her to see me so weak.

"I'm sorry about Charlotte," she whispered, then leaned forward to me.

Startled, I turned my head, finding our faces an inch apart. She pressed a sweet and chaste kiss against my forehead, her chin bumping the bridge of my nose gently, and both her hands sinking through my hair. I felt her lips in the center, far enough away from the cuts and bruises that it did not hurt, but so close to my heart that I felt as if I had been mortally wounded. Her breath caressed my skin, and my lips came entirely too close to her exposed throat. My gaze was centered on her breasts though, because it never entered my mind to return the kiss. Then she sat back with a slight smile.

"Why...?"

Her hand smoothed over the spot that burned on my face, "So that you will remember this one more clearly."

- -

I relived that kiss when she left to check on her sister. I remembered every moment, every single thing about her eyes, and the way her skin had looked, slightly reddened from where she had been sleeping on her side. I thought of a million things I could have done to prolong it...to have made it last a second longer. An hour longer. As I had done in the tunnel after our first kiss, I imagined what it would be like to take her up against a wall, or to pin her beneath me on my bed.

My breathing was harsh, and getting harder when I heard my door open again. I looked up, ready to invite her back into bed with me, and I was entirely disappointed to find Raoul de Chagny walking into the room.

"Where is Charlotte?"

"Downstairs," he replied, as calmly as you please. "I hope you didn't give Eva a hard time about everything yesterday. You ought to know I would not disappear with your daughter."

He emphasized the last two words, and I sat back with a smile. "I know you wouldn't risk it," I conceded. "But that is not the reason I do not want her to leave."

"Selfish much, Erik?" he asked sarcastically. "Surely you do not want to begrudge your only child a relationship with her only brother."

I frowned. "Half brother. And as soon as I am able, I am closing this place down. No one will go out, or come in without my permission. You have made yourself entirely too much at home in my house, and I will not tolerate it."

"She had great fun," he replied, ignoring me. "Though all her toys were here, and she was worried about her pets, and naturally you. But it was a comfort to her to be surrounded by her mother's things. She was fine until it was time to go to bed, then she was very sad and feeling out of sorts. I let her sleep in her mother's bed to appease her, because she demanded to be returned to you at once."

"Then why didn't you bring her back?" I asked quickly, my chest tightening with the knowledge. My daughter had been thinking of me? It had been three days since I had last seen her, and I missed her terribly. Was it possible she had missed me just as much?

"Because it took forever to get her to agree to go to sleep, and it was nearly two in the morning before I convinced her to even try." He sighed, then ran his hand through his hair. "She is far too spoiled for her own good, and I don't doubt that you will have problems with her if you do not deal with her soon."

I snorted. "She's a child. She will obey me without hesitation."

That caused him to smile for some reason, and he shrugged. "Perhaps. I merely wanted to let you know I had returned her. I think you should allow her to come up here."

"Sure, and give her reason to have nightmares for the rest of her life?"

He walked over to my desk and took the white mask from it, studying it, then my swollen face. "You should at least try, Erik. She doesn't feel secure with all this drama surrounding her. It reminds her of when her mother died."

I glared at the mask in his hands, then at him. "There's more," I said harshly, then pointed at a door across the room. "Bring that...that thing...from out of there."

I didn't look at him as he set the mannequin head next to my bedside table, then placed the mask next to it. He didn't look at me either, and he turned his back and walked halfway across the room.

"I'll give you ten minutes to prepare, then I'm bringing her up here."


	53. A Ballet, You Say?

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

_Eva_

"You've been blushing since you came down this morning," Rebbecca remarked, sitting beside the window and looking out at the winter roses.

I felt my face grow warmer, remembering the look in Erik's eyes before I had left him alone in his bed. Whatever I felt for him extended beyond gratitude, and stretched much farther than the pity he surely knew that I did feel. How could I not feel sorry for the man? But in no way did I see him as weak, despite the condition of his body. He was not pathetic, nor submissive. He had a way of intimidating me with a single touch or a scathing glance, but I had seen deeply beneath his prickly shield today, and realized for the first time what a lonely man he must be.

"Yes, well." I felt my face heat more.

"She wasn't in her room last night," Lacey said, then gave me a smile. "And she's wearing the same dress as she was yesterday."

A gentleman cleared his throat, and I spun around to face a hesitant Raoul de Chagny. "Oh dear," I whispered, then spun back around to stare at the wall. I felt three curious eyes on me, and I could do nothing more than pray that I could sink into the floor.

"Evangeline, I just let Erik know that I was here," he said softly. "Charlotte is reuniting with her long lost pets, and I'm going to take her upstairs in a few minutes."

I turned to look at him. "Is Erik aware of this?"

"Yes."

"Oh." I glanced at Rebbecca, then at Lacey, who were both still watching me with knowing smiles. "Does he need any help with...anything?"

"I think he can manage." Raoul glanced at Rebbecca, who had allowed me to drape a pink silk cloth over her head, and across her back. She had wept over the rest of her hair being sheared off, but looked much better, and Lacey had made the discovery that she had been infected with lice...which led to the discovery of her own hair being infected.

Without asking anyone, she had cut her own hair off...and she was wearing a matching blue silk cloth over her head. I had gratefully discovered this morning that I did not have the little bugs, and I would be checking Charlotte and Erik's head later, just to be safe.

"Monsieur, I don't believe you've been properly introduced to my sister. This is Rebbecca Clarke – "

"Novelli," she interrupted sharply, not bothering to look at him.

"Rebbecca Novelli," I corrected. "Rebbecca, this is Raoul de Chagny."

"A pleasure, Madame Novelli," he murmured, and gave a polite bow.

Rebbecca still did not turn to look at him, her cheeks stained crimson, and hands wringing nervously in her lap. I glanced at Lacey, but she was oblivious, her adoration of the handsome Vicomte obvious.

"My sister I believe needs her rest," I said quietly, and he nodded and left the room without another word.

"I'm sorry," Rebbecca mumbled when I turned to look at her. "But please...I don't want to see that man again."

She wrung her hands again, and I touched her shoulder, squeezing until she looked at me. "Is there a reason why for that particular man?" I asked gently.

"No," she whispered. "I don't want to see any man, if that is at all possible."

"I will do my best to help you, Rebbecca, but not every man is like Victor. Or those guards."

"You mean your employer?" she asked, then gave me a wan smile. "Be careful Eva. It takes very little to break a person's heart. And that always comes before they break your spirit."

I held her hand awhile longer, unable to tell her that both had already happened to me, but that somehow I had moved on. I had lost the two most precious things in the world to me. Her, and Zachary's baby, and nothing could have saved me if God had not placed me in Charlotte's life. I found myself thinking of Erik in other ways already, and I knew my heart was already in great danger again.

- -

I went upstairs before Raoul took Charlotte, finding Erik cursing as he fumbled with the mask. His hairpiece was on, making him look so vastly different that I paused in the doorway for a moment. He looked quite panicked, trying to fumble with the band with one hand and slid it over his face, and when he heard my footsteps he froze, obviously thinking it was Raoul with his daughter.

"Let me help you," I said softly, then took the white half mask from him. It must have been the one that Charlotte said was made of bone, though it was soft and made from leather. He stared down at his legs as I slipped it over his head, closing his eyes as I tried to adjust it to fit. The swelling around his forehead and his cheek made it gape away from his nose, and he gritted his teeth as I tried to fix it to work properly.

"Am I doing this right?" I asked, smoothing his hair down over the band to conceal it.

"It should have gone under the...the other," he whispered, and I could hear the embarrassment in his voice. I had felt as if I had crossed the last of his barriers to me. If not the ones to his heart, then the ones to his self preservation. Knowing that by trying to help him was making him feel humiliated did not make me feel any better either.

"Shall I change it?"

"No."

There were bruises to the left side of his face as well, and he desperately needed a shave. I pulled the covers over his injured leg, then across his chest and arm, concealing the rest of his battered body with his blanket. There was nothing I could do about the ones around his neck, where one of the men had hit him with a baton, or the boot shaped imprint on his upper chest, where he had been kicked backwards.

"Would you like a bath after this is finished?" I asked casually. "And a shave, of course."

His eyes flew to mine, and his mouth fell open. "A what?"

"Bath," I repeated, feeling myself turn red. It was going to become permanent if I didn't learn to abandon my modesty. "And a shave."

I touched his jaw, tracing a hand over the rough patch of stubble surrounding his mouth and chin. The bruises on the right side were tender, and he closed his eyes when I touched him there.

"Perhaps we should have put ice over your injuries," I murmured, my tone soft and breathless.

"Madame, you are going to have to...to stop...," he ground out, then pushed my hand away from him. "This is not a suitable arrangement for me any longer."

"Why not?" I asked boldly, and he cursed me beneath his breath.

"You know why," he said, his voice rough. "You damn well know why! I can't even look at you without insulting you, and then I find you in my bed this morning...My God, what are trying to do to me?"

I stared at him for several moments, my gaze greedily traveling down his body, showing him for the first time exactly what I thought. "You think that is an insult?" I asked, my brow raised as I looked pointedly at the bulge beneath the covers. He groaned and rolled his eyes towards the ceiling, his hand slamming over to the pillow beside him and then throwing it across his thighs. "Every time you look at me, or I touch you, this is what happens. What woman in her right mind would be insulted by that?"

"You're crazy," he whispered. "You've lost your senses."

No, I thought as I heard Charlotte chattering as they came up the stairs. I had lost much more than that.

- -

He was grateful for the distraction of his daughter, and I shooed Raoul out the door while I kept an eye on Charlotte to make certain she didn't hurt him further. She approached the bed nervously at first, looking at him in apprehension as she took in the sight of him lying very still with the white mask on. It still didn't fit properly, but hid all of the things he wanted to conceal. He had finally struggled to sit up, keeping the pillow firmly over his hips, and I felt my breasts ache as I wondered if he was still aroused.

"Papa?" she whispered, looking frightened. "Why are you still in bed?"

"I hurt my leg," he said softly. "Come...I want to hear about your visit to Monsieur de Changy's."

She climbed onto the bed beside him, on the left side, and crossed her legs. "Oh, very well. I had to sleep in Mama's bed because I was terribly lonely without Eva and without Gertrude and my kitties. Then I was worried that you might not come back, and I wanted to go home for a little while, but Papa Raoul told me that you were still not feeling well."

"Come back?" he asked, then glanced at me. "But I've been here the whole time, Charlotte."

"Mama didn't come back," she explained patiently, fiddling with her shoe laces. "But Eva's sister did, so I was worried you might have to go away too."

"I'm not going anywhere," he whispered, then moved his right arm to his side. He held out his left one and encircled her back, drawing her close. "I'm sorry I haven't been able to tuck you in, or give you a music lesson. I promise as soon as my leg heals..."

Charlotte sighed and snuggled closer, looking up at him with a smile. "It's alright, Papa. I'm glad you brought Lacey home with you. She likes my kitties, and said that she used to have one a long time ago. And Madame du Brul is being nicer now, and she says that she hopes you feel better."

I smiled and slipped downstairs for a few moments, giving them a bit of privacy. Madame du Brul had left a tray outside my door with two meals on it, and I went back upstairs with intentions of feeding him. In my absence, Charlotte had somehow managed to injure him, because he was groaning in pain, and she was sitting on the far side of the bed with her knees drawn up to her chin, watching him with wide eyes.

"Erik, are you alright?" I gasped, setting the tray on the floor and hurrying towards him.

"I'm sorry," Charlotte whispered. "His arm...I'm so sorry."

"It's okay, Charlotte," he said, clenching his teeth and failing to keep a normal tone. "I'm fine. I'm fine."

Erik brushed away my hands as I reached for the bandage, seeing it was not bleeding but he definitely looked as if in pain. I hovered for a moment, uncertain what to do, and suddenly Charlotte lunged across his bed and into my arms. I scooped her up a scant inch before she kicked him in the leg, and from the look on his face I knew he had fully expected it.

"Lotte, you must be careful," I said sternly, but allowed her to cling to me. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have left."

"I'm fine," he repeated, then took his daughter's leg in his hand. "Charlotte, come give me a kiss, then you may go back downstairs to play."

I let her lean over him and place a kiss against his cheek, and watched as her hand traced his left jaw. "I like this one better," she whispered. "And Papa, I'm really sorry."

He smiled slowly, and sat back against his pillow, breathing a sigh of relief as she let him go. "Think nothing of it, Charlotte. I'm glad you are home."

"May I go with Papa Raoul to see a ballet tonight?"

Erik's smile fell away, and he glanced at me. "A ballet?"

"Yes...he says it will be great fun, though I might not know what it means," she replied, then glanced at me.

"Understand what it means, Charlotte." I corrected her, and she nodded, dutifully repeating the phrase.

"May I?"

"I...I..."

"_Please?"_ she drawled the word out, making her sound very much like she was accustomed to getting her way.

"I must think about it," he said gently, then frowned at me. "Tell Monsieur de Chagny I want to speak with him. Immediately."


	54. Giving In

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

_Erik_

Evangeline set a tray with an enormous amount of food next to me on the bed then left with Charlotte, and I picked at it with my left hand to stifle the raw hunger that plagued me. Apparently she didn't eat as often as other people, or merely forgot that I needed to eat occasionally, because I judged it to be nearly noon and I had not eaten yet.

Charlotte going to a ballet? With Raoul?

It hurt when I thought of it. Hurt inside, like nothing else. He could give her so many things that I couldn't, such as the opportunity for a normal social life, outside of this house. As much as it galled me to admit it, I knew I couldn't keep her away from the world forever. One day I would die, and she would be sent straight out there with nothing and no one to protect her. I wanted to be the one who took my daughter to that sort of thing. To watch her eyes light up, and a smile of pleasure on her face as she watched ballerinas flutter across the stage. I wouldn't mind introducing her to Madame Giry, if the woman would even permit me to speak with her again after I had destroyed her home. As far as I knew she still lived in Paris, and she had never contacted me to return the grand sum of money I had left for her and Meg.

I wondered if she had already met Charlotte, or if Christine had closed the door on that part of her life when I had compromised her.

I pulled the mask off, grateful to be rid of it already, then the wig as well. It was scraping against my stitches, making my head itch, and the last thing I wanted was to irritate the wounds further. I swallowed a lump of bread as the last few moments alone with Evangeline slid through my mind. She wanted to bathe me? I smiled despite the ill feeling I had. Perhaps I would let her. After all, how many more chances would I have to let her care for me like this? I almost dreaded the day that I would get well, and lose all rights for her to give me attention. Still, the words she had spoken haunted me. She seemed to indicate that my reaction to her was neither unnoticed, nor unwelcome. Maybe she was merely setting the stage for what she thought I wanted from her. Maybe that was the entire foundation of the attraction I felt for her. That she was willing to lay with me. Willing. Under unusual circumstances...but yet, she had made a promise, hadn't she? Even if she didn't realize what that promise entailed.

"You wanted to see me?"

I glanced up, surprised to see Raoul at the foot of the bed. I hadn't been paying attention to anything other than my thoughts, and I frowned as I realized I was already aroused by them. I shifted up in bed and moved my plate to my lap.

"Yes." I frowned, wondering why I couldn't balance the plate right. "I wanted to speak to you about this ballet business."

"Ah," he smiled. "I didn't think you would be pleased."

"Rightly so," I muttered, spearing a carrot. "You should have asked me first. She's excited about it by now."

He shrugged, and I knew his actions were intentional. I knew he would do this often...ask Charlotte first, then dare me to deny her something, knowing very well I couldn't. I was frustrated by the limitations she would have for me as a father. It hurt that I couldn't do the same things with her that he could...and it angered me greatly that he was still around to be a stand in for me.

"Erik, we can reach a compromise. I know you don't think it's possible, but there is no reason for us to fight anymore," he said quietly, folding his arms across his chest. He looked like a stern aristocrat, and it irritated me to see how young and fit he was, compared to the suffering beast that I had become. "We both know why it would benefit me to stay in her life. I can certainly justify why it would benefit her, and you."

"I don't want anything from you," I insisted, glaring at him. "And neither does she."

"I didn't say anything about wants. I am talking about what she needs." He proceeded to reiterate my thoughts about her being closed away from society, and proving his bloody point with all too good intentions. "And I think it would be good for you to let her out. You can't keep yourself closed in this house forever. It isn't healthy."

"Oh, now I'm supposed to take personal advice from you?" I jeered at him. "How sweet you are, precious Vicomte."

"Evangeline is going to need to leave here someday as well," he continued, ignoring my apparent anger. "She doesn't need your protection any longer. She may decide to take her sister and leave, and as I understand it, she still has an inheritance to claim."

My heart ached, and I looked away from him immediately. I didn't want her to leave. When had I suddenly stopped wanting that? I had thought that I did just the other night, but the knowledge that was staring at me now was frightening. Forcing her to leave was much more comforting than her leaving me for her own reasons. "She...she may leave when she chooses. She has always known that."

"Leave, but never return?" he asked quietly. "You must have everything under your own terms, is that it? You try to control your world, and anyone who dares to cross into it." He sighed in disgust. "May I take her tonight, or not? It is your choice, Erik. You know it will always be yours, and yours alone."

"Take her," I whispered, feeling guilt and shame, and unable to stop the rage that plagued me at losing that control he spoke of. "Bring her back...in the morning...if that is your wish."

I surprised him, and myself, but he nodded and left. I was alone for a long time after that. Long enough to contemplate a great many things.

Nothing made sense any more.

- -

I gave up on Evangeline and hobbled to the water closet, using the cane and any piece of furniture that happened to be in the way for support. I had built the room to suit my own purposes, with the bathing tub outside in the main part of my bedroom, and the privacy room off to the side. I liked to sink into the water and relax, but didn't feel comfortable enough to do so in a room where I could see nothing and hear nothing over the sloshing of water. I heard Evangeline muttering as I finished and washed my hands, then she began opening various doors and calling my name.

I limped back out, and she put her hands on her hips as she looked at me. "Where were you?"

"Nature called," I said wryly, then sat down in the closest chair. I looked at her as she took part of the plate and nibbled on her meal, realizing she had changed her dress, and her hair looked darker. Wet, I thought, because it was in a braid, with curls at her temples. "Did he take her?"

"Madame du Brul is getting her dressed appropriately, and then they are leaving," she said softly. "It was good of you to allow her to go. She needs to have her mind off...off all this...and I haven't had her in the classroom in almost a week."

I stared as she poured herself a glass of wine, washing down a bite of lamb. She was drinking from my used glass, I realized. Didn't she have any sort of manners? Or did it not bother her to do something like that? It was disconcerting to watch a woman become so familiar with me, and I caught myself staring at the bathtub across the room, wondering if I had the nerve to ask her for what I wanted.

"Would you like me to...?"

I glanced over, and she was staring at the tub as well. "If you insist, Madame."

"I insist," she said, then set her plate down. She moved over to the boiler and ran the hose across the floor and to the tub, then turned the faucet.

"You'll need to only fill it halfway," I advised helpfully. "The cold water will need to come from the sink in the water closet."

I felt my blood come alive as I watched her fill the tub with cold water, then turn the faucet off for the hot. She held the hose up and allowed it to drain completely, then placed the end back into a bucket I kept beside the tank. Her eyes met mine, and she turned red, and I grew harder just thinking about her damnable willingness, and the way she seemed to want me, though I didn't want to examine the reasons why too closely. My hand tightened over the came as she added my soap to the water, and I watched her raise it to her nose and smile to herself. She became so concentrated on avoiding my heavy gaze that she seemed to forget that I was even in the room.

Until she finally looked up at me, and I could see the thoughts clearly in her eyes.

"Your bath is ready, Erik," she whispered, then crossed the room to my chair.

I rose to my feet unsteadily, taking her shoulder when she offered it. I looked down at her head as I limped towards the tub, inhaling the scent of jasmine and peaches. I knew before she reached for my trouser buttons that I would take anything else she offered me. Even if it was only a bath. Even if it was only a kiss, or a smile.

And I would take it, as long as we both knew where we stood.


	55. What the Promise Was Not

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

_Eva_

I knelt quickly and discarded the bandage on his leg, grateful that I had cut the pants so that I didn't have to do so after I had removed them . He stared straight ahead, his breathing quick as I fumbled with the bandage on his arm, tossing it aside as well.

"Turn around," I said firmly after I had unbuttoned his trousers.

"Around?" he repeated, his voice deep and hypnotic. He stared into my eyes with something akin to amusement in the green depths.

"Yes. Turn around."

I held his pants together, thankful for high–waisted men's fashion. The trousers were well above his navel, and well above other equipment that I was very conscious of beneath my wrists. I resisted the urge to exhale sharply, or pant, or gasp with delight. Somehow I resisted it, but mentally my bell had already been rung.

Erik sighed, then slowly did as I asked, gripping the cane as I guided my hands around his waist then let his pants slide to the floor. His movements stilled, and I realized that maybe this wasn't the best idea, because now my hands were poised above his erection, which I couldn't see, and my breasts were pressed into his back. Not to mention my stomach against his backside, or my dress which had swished between his legs.

I closed my eyes for a moment, concentrating on a sexual dizziness that plagued me for several moments, until I moved my hands to his waist and took a step back. Naturally, my gaze centered on his backside, and I did the most unfortunate thing.

I giggled.

He glared at me over his shoulder, silencing me momentarily, but another escaped.

"Do you find something amusing?" he demanded.

"Not...in particular," I squeaked, then laughed again. "Please...sit down."

My hands tightened on his hips, encouraging him to place both his legs in the water. He sank down carefully, and I kept my eyes elsewhere until he was safely concealed beneath a mountain of bubbles, which he also glared at. "Men do not take bubble baths," he informed me.

"This one will," I said simply, raising my brow. I sank down beside the tub and handed him his wash cloth, and a bar of his masculine scented soap. "Do you require any help?"

He smiled slightly, his eyes lighting with pure wickedness. "Only what you are willing to give, Madame."

Whether he attempted to embarrass me, or was serious I didn't know. He succeeded in the first, and I wondered about the last, though I did stand up and look through his hair for a moment.

"What are you doing?" he finally asked, tilting his head back to look at me.

"I didn't want to say anything...but my sister and Lacey had lice."

He scowled, and I wondered if I had effectively ruined his mood and his dirty thoughts. "Wonderful."

"I don't see anything. I didn't have any, neither did anyone else in the house, and Madame du Brul had everything burned this morning. My sister and Lacey are completely bald now, one by necessity and the other by choice." I stopped, touching the right side of his head for a moment, feeling the smoother, hairless skin. "You don't have anything except dried blood back here. You're pleased to hear that, I'm sure."

"Yes," he muttered, though he didn't say anything about his own hair.

I rinsed his hair as I had done with Rebbecca, though he insisted on washing it himself, using his left arm to slather soap all across his head and around his injuries. I sat back and watched, finding him grinning occasionally when he would catch me, and I couldn't help but blush and smile back. We were behaving ridiculously, but both totally embarrassed. I didn't know what he wanted from me, and I had long since stopped thinking about the letter. He was in no particular hurry to divulge the contents, and I was far too comfortable with the way things were going to press him. The idea that he would make me do something illicit was fading, but I had no idea what he wanted from me. Something bad enough that I would hate him, apparently. But what?

"Rinse," he commanded.

I poured the water over his head, and he sputtered at the unexpected deluge. He blinked, and growled, making me laugh at his dramatic display.

"Someone is feeling better," I said teasingly, and leaned over to pat his cheek. My braid fell into the water, soaking it and drifting across his legs. He wrapped it around his left hand and tugged, his smile fading when I obeyed his subtle demand.

His gaze fell to my lips, and he released me quickly, flipping my hair away from him and slinging water across the room. "My toothbrush is in the water closet," he said gruffly.

Meaning if I retrieved it, and his mouth were clean that he would kiss me? I fairly ran to fetch it, as well as the small vial of tooth powder that was sitting on the vanity. I stepped out of his line of sight and pressed my hands over my hot cheeks, wondering if I had any idea what I was doing. I busied myself changing his sheets, even going downstairs to fetch new ones, thinking the entire time that I must be mad.

Had I come back up here with the strict intentions of going to bed with him? Was that why I had bathed while he was up here with Raoul? Was that why I had been grateful to find out that Charlotte would be gone another night...was it the reason I informed my sister that I would see her later in the evening? It wasn't even time for dinner yet, and already my actions were less than honorable. And I wasn't even sure Erik was well enough for this sort of activity.

But my body had been aching for him, and I wanted to feel his hands on me. I wanted to experience his kiss, and run my hands over the body I had been caring for the last few days. It was impossible not to notice what I did to him. I wondered if he had any clue what he did to me. That I ached for him, just as much as he did me...

But what would happen if I did this?

"Eva."

Eva. Not Evangeline. Not Madame Novelli, but Eva, which he had barely called me. My stomach tightened as I crossed the room to him, seeing him freshly washed and ready to get out. I was nervous as I helped him, meeting his eyes instead of looking lower. Grateful that he looked tired, I helped him wrap a towel around his body then dried his back while he sat in a chair. He shivered slightly, and I realized the fire was low, but we were both breathing so carefully and quietly that neither of us said anything for several moments.

He didn't move as I ran the towel over his hair, then brushed my fingers through it, combing it away from his face. His eyes closed, and I traced the cut gently that Lacey had stitched, thankful that it looked to be healing well.

"I need to clean your leg and your arm," I said quietly, and he opened his eyes.

"Then do it," he whispered, leaning forward in his chair to watch as I retrieved the supplies. My hands shook, the tension between us raw and thick, and I prayed that I was not the only one feeling that way. That I was not going to make a mistake that I would regret...one that I could not take back, because he was not just any man, and I was not just any woman. Erik was many things, and I knew I could hurt him just as much as he could hurt me. Maybe more, because he was far more vulnerable than he would ever let on. He guarded himself so well that I knew nothing of what was beneath, and I was afraid that by giving him what he wanted I would be destroying us both.

But it was what I wanted as well.

I finished cleaning his leg and wrapped it in gauze, then stood on my knees to bandage his arm. He was still leaning forward, the right side of his face close to mine, his breathing hot against my ear and on my shoulder.

"Eva," he whispered, his lips lowering to my shoulder. He brushed the hair on my neck away, then did it again, sending fire swirling through my body. Sending flames lower, and lower still as he did it again. "This is your last chance to leave. Your final warning...if you are going to leave, then do it now."

I met his lips at once, my answer given without words, and without consulting my brain. He pulled me close with his left arm, drawing me into the cradle of his legs, his mouth taking mine with exquisite tenderness. I wound my arms around his neck, pushing my fingers through his wet hair and tasting him with lips and tongue, feeling his damp chest soak the fabric of my dress. Nothing mattered as long as he kept kissing me. No other thoughts were going through my mind, except to take whatever he was willing to give, and to give him just as much as I could.

"The bed," he murmured, raising his head up to look at me. Still giving me the option of leaving, because there were questions in his green, fiery eyes.

"Yes," I replied, breathless and certain of what I wanted. I needn't have offered my arm, because he guided me there with surprising strength, and I undressed myself quickly before his heavy lidded gaze.

I smiled invitingly at him as he released his towel and crawled onto the bed with me, his powerful body pushing at me with one arm, until I was beneath him and he had me pinned to the bed. Unable to support his own weight, and keeping his right leg firmly away from me, he kissed me again. I arched beneath him, straining as he caressed my shoulder, and my arm, but not my breasts.

"Erik..." I urged his hand over with mine, and his eyes widened in surprise as he found his hand filled.

He kissed me once more, his thumb brushing hesitantly across my nipple, sending delicious hot thrills through every part of my body.

"Eva," he whispered, then lowered his lips to my breast. "I have to tell you something..."

"What..._now_?"

He seemed to smile a bit, then his tongue continued to torment me, and he groaned as I ran my hand up his back. "Yes...I have to tell you now."

If I had expected him to stop kissing me during his confession, I was mistaken. He kissed me again, and I knew he was in great pain because of his right side. He collapsed beside me and risked injury by placing his right arm around my back. I could feel his arousal straining against my leg, and I gasped at the feel of him.

"The promise you made to me," he continued, drawing a lazy circle around my breast with his tongue. He kissed me once more, then lifted his head to meet my eyes. "It did not entail sex on any level."


	56. Pleasure then Pain

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

Ladies, I give you my 'candy bar' scene. The only reason I wrote this lusty little story...I hope I have done everything justice.

- -

_Erik_

I stopped kissing her, waiting for her to respond. Fully expecting her to slap me and to demand that I go straight to the devil, I rolled away from her and lay on my back. Evangeline sat up and stared at me for a moment, her eyes not bothering to stop roaming over me.

"Thank God," she said with a strange little smile, and I closed my eyes.

She was thanking Him that it was over with. That she wouldn't have to go any further...that she didn't have to continue the performance and the farce of finding me attractive. Later she could laugh about my attempt to seduce her...or she could cry as Christine had done, and I would never see her again.

I nearly exploded to the ceiling when her lips closed over my stomach, and her teeth sank into my flesh. "What...what the hell are you doing?"

"Passing the time," she chuckled, then did it again. She leaned across my body, her lips traveling up my skin, then back to my mouth. She met my startled expression with one of her own. "What's wrong? Are you hurt?"

"I released you from what I know you have been thinking I wanted. You aren't angry?"

"Why should I be angry? I didn't want to have sex with you in exchange for a promise. I wanted to do this because we both wanted it."

"But...but..."

Evangeline kissed me, her lips covering my own sputtering protests until I had no choice but to meet her insistent tongue. I could have climbed a mountain when she straddled me, and her breasts came into full contact with my chest.

"Eva," I twisted my mouth away from hers, gasping for air. "You don't understand..."

"I understand perfectly well," she murmured, and settled for kissing my ear. She lazily blew inside of it, and my shoulders came off the bed as lighting shot through me, pitching her backwards with me until we were both sitting upright.

"Eva..."

"Erik." She frowned at me, her hand caressing the right side of my face.

I had never felt more exposed before someone in my entire life, as I did in that one moment. Her touch was like rebirth, and I waited with my breath held to see what her response was.

"Whatever the promise is, we can forget it right now, can't we?" she whispered, then pressed a kiss to my cheek. Her lips hovered there a moment as I felt the pain and pleasure of her touch, beleaguering me to the point of madness. "It has nothing to do with what we are doing right now. We can keep it separate...and I don't want to think about it right now."

"You trust me?" I asked, guilt plaguing me again. I so desperately wanted her to say yes, but it would be so much better if she said no.

"Yes. I trust you."

I swallowed the truth, wanting to experience this with her. She kissed me again as I slowly sank back to the bed, our hips cradling one another in such heat and intimacy that I couldn't help but arch against her. I wanted nothing more than to hold her, and kiss her, even knowing that it may never happen again.

"You're so beautiful," I whispered, my lips tracing over her exposed jawline. "You've been driving me mad...all that red hair...your legs," I groaned as she rocked herself against me, our bodies yearning to become one. "A firebird..."

"Firebird?" she murmured, her eyes darkening. "I like that..."

She kissed me again as I stroked her back. I wished that I had full use of my body, but she didn't seem to mind. Her braid fell forward and I took the time to untie it, letting her damp strands fall around us. She urged me endlessly to caress her breasts, and I did so with wordless wonder, fascinated equally with each red tipped globe.

"Take me into your mouth," she demanded, leaning forward enough to allow me access to her body. Skin had never tasted sweeter...a woman had never smelled fresher, or more pure. I wasn't certain...but I was almost sure of it. I bolted beneath her as her hands swept along my stomach and she reached between our bodies. The place needing her attention most strained forward, aching until she closed her hand around me.

Our eyes met as she stroked me, then held as she stopped and slid onto me.

"Eva...Eva..."

Her body and the way she responded was so vastly different than Christine. She was hotter...and slick inside, where Christine had left me feeling cold, and I knew she had not been excited by the way I hurt her. Whether it was because she was a virgin, or if it was my performance, I wasn't certain. All I knew was that I had triggered something inside _this _woman, and I was willing to abandon modesty to give her pleasure. My hips pulsed beneath hers, and she buried her head against my shoulder as she sank fully onto me.

"I want you beneath me," I growled into her ear, lifting my hips to meet hers with jarring force.

"Considering the circumstances," she gasped, raising her head enough to look at me, "I think this position should be the most obvious."

In response I curved my good arm around her back and strained upwards again. My leg would not allow much of this, but for the moment I didn't care. She was wild and beautiful above me, and soon I had forgotten everything and the stars except for her. We moved as one. As _one_, and I savored every kiss, every sigh. Our lips traveled over each other's lazily, searching, seeking; exploring beyond our mouths and to shoulders and ears, then meeting back in mutual hunger.

There was no doubt of her control over me, and her teasing manner was distracting and maddening. I said nothing about next time, or anything beyond the night, although I fervently hoped that I would have the chance to taunt her as she was doing to me. The feeling of her around me was enough to cause me to go insane from pleasure, but her rhythm was what drove me to the brink. She held all the cards, and I held her, as I could do nothing but experience the ecstasy of her sweet body and her generous heart.

"Erik," she whispered, her tone ragged and demanding as her pace increased. Her knees hugged my hips relentlessly as she rocked against me. I was delighted to find that I could halt her movements and make her forget her task if I nibbled at her neck, and she went limp in my arms if I tangled my hand through her hair. She did things to me as well, though mostly it was centered on the place we joined.

"Slow down," I commanded the moment I felt the surge inside of me. "Eva...Eva...slow..."

"No!" she cried, triumph in her eyes. I felt her tighten around me, and I was lost as her control slipped, and she was shaking against my chest, her arms unable to support her as she surrendered to waves of frenzied pleasure.

I buried my face against her damp throat and groaned hoarsely, rising beneath her as a shuddering climax ripped through me. I jerked inside her, beyond words and quite beyond speech, and forgetting everything but the beautiful moment where we were one, both in body and spirit.

Eva's shoulders began to tremble after a few minutes, and I stroked her back until our breathing returned to normal. She raised up to look at me, a serene expression on her face, then she clambered off me and sat to the side.

"I..."

Her eyes widened and she blinked as she stared towards the foot of the bed. I sat up and drew the covers over my lower body, watching warily as she quickly did the same.

"Erik...I...," she tried again, then turned to face me. "I think you just made a mistake."

"Me?"

She nodded. "I'm sorry. I don't know what to say right now..."

"Why don't you tell me what you mean, and we can start from there," I said impatiently. "You seemed to want this just as much as I did, so what is your problem?"

"I did," she said quickly. "I just..."

She stopped and groaned, burying her face in her hands. I felt the pleasure that we had shared diminish under the weight of what we had done. The feelings we held for each other gone...now what was left?

If it hadn't been for the small sound she made, I never would have known she was crying. My heart withered in my chest, and I felt the illusion and romance die. She was crying...just like Christine had done afterwards. Perhaps this was what all women did after they made love with a man. I pounded the mattress with my fist and turned away, swinging my legs over the side of the bed.

"Get out."

"What?" she whispered, her voice betraying her tears. "Why?"

"I thought you wanted to be here, and now you show me the truth, Madame. Your compassionate nature astounds me, but I assure you I didn't need your body merely to lift my spirits."

"That wasn't...," she started, then I heard her sniffle. "Erik, I did want to be here with you," she whispered. I heard her moving, then her hands wrapped around my neck from behind me. She pressed a kiss to my cheek, and her breasts pushed against my back. "You have nothing to do with this," she sighed, and held me tighter. "Erik, I did something terrible. I did something that resulted in the death of my unborn child. I'm the last woman you should have done this with, because you don't want me to get pregnant by you."

I felt my stomach tighten, and turned to look at her. "What do you mean you did something?"

"I had to have done something," she whispered, and sat back on the bed. "There's no other reason...I must have..."

"Why would you think that?" I asked, reaching for her as she started to cry again. "Tell me what happened."

She buried her face in my shoulder and cried, and I held her closer, feeling odd and discomfited by the urge I had to shield her from all harm. "I should have listened to him. I should have done as Victor demanded, and gone with him easily," she sobbed, and held me tighter.

"Where was your...protector?"

"London," she said, sounding bitter. "He wanted to fight, and he left, telling me Victor couldn't possibly be so stupid as to try anything."

"But he did?"

"Yes. He forced me to go into the hospital two weeks before I was due, and I struggled the entire way there." She lifted her head and dried her eyes. "That was when I met Christine. I didn't know until later, after the child was born that I had never been admitted. He kept me there without seeming to, and I didn't even see him after he put me in their care. I assumed I had seen the last of him...but after it was born...and it had died...he came back, wanting me to sign some papers to give up my inheritance. Then Christine came...and I left with the de Chagny's."

"Eva, you didn't do anything to your child," I said gently.

"You don't know that!" she said hysterically. "You don't! I fell outside the hospital...I should have just gone in as he demanded." She hugged her legs and rocked, staring vacantly. "Amber would have lived...she would have lived..."

"Amber?" I repeated, reaching out to stroke her back. "That was her name?"

"Amber Elizabeth," she whispered, closing her eyes. "Zachary named her."

I stopped moving as she said his name, remembering what Victor had said in the tunnel. It was too bad for Zachary, because he couldn't have her.

"Why didn't Zachary find the de Chagny's and take you with him?" I asked, unable to dislodge a swell of fear in my throat.

"He doesn't know where I am. I never wanted him to," she said dully. "I was a disappointment to both of us. I took the coward's way out and I sent him a letter telling him what I had done, but never told him where I was. He must hate me terribly now, and I cannot blame him. It can't be half as much as I hate myself."


	57. Settle for Love

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

_Eva_

There was something good to be said about a sensitive man...a gentle man. I didn't doubt Erik could be quite fearsome when necessary. For him to have survived as long as he had, and to bear the mark of tragedy that he had to face every morning...I knew he had endured great pain and very likely unleashed much of his own. But he was above all very sweet as he held me, not protesting in horror the way Zachary had done, or blustering with indignity as my father might have. He held me, seeming to be mesmerized by the way my spine curved, as one finger traced slowly up and down.

I was not unaware of it as I cried...not unaffected by it either, and if he had been in perfect health I would have crawled right back across his lap and taken my pain out in other ways. The idea of conception had came about half a second after his release...and I had been flung back into reality with all the grace of a douse of cold water.

What had I been thinking, sleeping with my employer? With an injured man, who I may as well admit I had thrown myself at, though I doubted he would complain much...

He took his discarded towel from the foot of the bed and laid it across his shoulder, giving me something to dry my eyes on. I shivered, and he pulled his blanket from the bed and wrapped it around me. I didn't doubt that if I cleared my throat he would offer me a glass of water, and I smiled against his chest at his attempts to comfort me.

"Thank you," I murmured, and pressed a kiss against the side of his bruised neck. I wasn't certain what to say to him any longer. I hadn't merely crossed the boundary in our relationship. I had ran blazingly past the damned thing, and still didn't want to look back. I didn't know what I wanted or expected...I certainly didn't have any idea what he felt...or didn't feel.

"Where...where is this Zachary now?" he asked softly.

"Here in Paris, I suppose," I answered, leaning back to look at him. "He only lived about three houses down from me, and I believe it was the home he grew up in. He never expressed any intentions of leaving."

"Not even to box in England, or even America? Anywhere that it would be legal to do so?"

I shook my head, "No, he loved France too much. When he couldn't fight he worked the docks, or worked on a road roller."

"Not terribly ambitious, was he?" he asked, smiling a little, and looking pleased for some reason.

"Not terribly bright, I'm afraid," I said, then made a face. "He had his head beaten in far too much...and his vision was not very clear at times."

That seemed to make him even happier, and I chuckled at his blossoming ego. It seemed every man needed to hear something disdainful said about a former lover, or a previous romantic interest. There was much I could have said about Zachary. The man had many faults, but he had tried to be good to me at a time when I was not the most pleasant of companions. And he had asked for none of it, especially the responsibility of a child he didn't want with a woman he didn't love.

"So why didn't he quit?" he asked, brushing my hair away from my face. The tenderness in his eyes made my heart warm, and I wondered if he thought he would have done so for me.

"It was what he loved to do," I said simply.

He smiled at that, and shook his head. "I must confess, I was never fond of fighting. Especially now that I am older...it requires too much energy on my part, and my opponents seem to gain the upper hand much easier as my age increases."

"Yes, well, those men were fighting dirty."

"That's the only way to fight."

"London prizefighting rules would disagree," I said wryly. "And we can only be thankful they didn't injure _every_ part of your anatomy."

"Don't think they wouldn't have," he said quietly, and glanced away. "Some men have an odd fascination with injuring other males in that capacity."

His mouth twisted, recalling some painful memory that I was certain he wouldn't share. There were a great many things I would probably never know about his past. I never would have suspected he had been raised in an orphanage ran by nuns. Technically Bicetre was considered an orphanage, for everyone from true orphaned children to the insane were sent there. And some who were not insane, but not truly guilty of a crime. Boys like Erik, who became unruly and were sent away to be forgotten. I wondered if it had been about the fighting...or about something else. His face, perhaps?

"Do you have any idea who your parents were?" I asked suddenly.

Erik looked down at me, startled. "No. Why?"

I couldn't answer, my tongue voice caught at the naked embarrassment on his face. What reason would he have to be ashamed because he didn't know his parents? I leaned up and kissed the corner of his lips, not wanting to be too obvious and concentrate all of my affection on the right side of his face. He seemed unaffected by appearing before me now without his mask and hair, and I hoped that he would always leave it off. I much preferred looking at him than at a piece of leather. His face was interesting...but not as horrific as he had led me to believe. And the left side was nothing short of handsome; his mouth I had always known was attractive, as were his eyes.

Erik pulled me to his chest and lay back against the bed, stretching his legs out carefully. I hoped we had not done any harm to his injuries from our activities, but I didn't think he cared much if his legs fell off at the moment. His hand began to caress my back again, his eyes fixed on the wall across the room.

"The first home I had was a tunnel much like the one we crawled into the other night." He glanced at me when I raised my head, then pushed me gently back down across his chest with a heavy sigh. "The only connection I had to anyone was an insane old man who wandered the tunnels, barely able to communicate rationally with other people. He seemed to talk with himself just fine, and with the menagerie of pets that he liked to keep near him. I suppose I was just like another dog or a cat for him to feed, and he mentioned something once about finding me in a drainage channel wearing naught but a nappy."

He couldn't prevent my head from shooting up this time, and I stared with dawning horror at the life he had led. "That...that's the worst thing I've ever heard in my life," I whispered.

The expression in his eyes convinced me there was more – much more – to his life that was infinitely sadder than being left for dead as a baby. I couldn't understand what would make a mother do something like that. Not when I would have given anything for Amber to have lived. I would have sold my soul for one precious moment with her...and if she had been born like Erik I would have loved her just as much...if not more.

"I didn't tell you that so you would feel sorry for me," he said with a touch of anger. "Never...ever feel sorry for me, do you understand?"

"It's terrible..."

"It doesn't change anything," he insisted, his face darkening. "I don't want your pity. I don't want anyone to feel sorry for me, do you understand, Eva? You will find quickly that I am not a man that deals well with that emotion."

"What about sympathy? I asked gently. "Compassion...empathy? Am I permitted to feel those things for you?"

"You're splitting hairs."

What about love, I wondered. Would he permit someone to love him, or was he so carefully guarded that such a feeling would be impossible? Was I in love with him?

It certainly felt like it at the moment...and I had been feeling a definite something since I had woken up next to him that morning. Or perhaps it was a combination of all those things previously mentioned, with a healthy dose of lust and desire, as well as about four or five other emotions mixed in. Happiness, affection, anticipation, frustration...and a great deal of enthusiasm.

"Then will you settle for an apology?" I whispered against his chest.

"A what?"

I pressed a kiss to the center of a boot imprinted bruise, then glanced up at him. "I'm sorry you have lived such a life, Erik. Your body speaks of things I know you would rather not tell me." I touched his rope burned wrist as a point, and his fist tightened self consciously. "I'm sorry...for everything. I know that it in no way makes up for the pain...the loneliness...," I continued, feeling him exhale hard, then draw in a shuddering breath. "I'm so sorry..."

I stopped, unable to continue, because I knew if I did, he would know just what I felt. I did feel sorry for him; how could I not? Words could not describe the way it hurt me to know what he had endured. Alone, frightened...completely abandoned by everyone. Left to die because he was not as perfectly formed as the rest of the smiling, happy children in the world.

I knew then what I felt for him was real. Perhaps it was not going to be a romantic love...perhaps it would not be the sort of love that great fiction was based on. It may well not even be returned, but I did feel such deep affection for him that I would call it love.

I might have even called it pure madness...but for the moment I would settle for love.


	58. Feelings Unspoken

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

_Erik_

Evangeline dozed against my chest for a couple of hours, and I watched the way the sun struck her red hair, glorified to be able to breathe her in, to allow my lips to hover a scant inch above creamy, soft skin, and do nothing more than inhale. I wasn't certain if she would wake up and reach for me, and allow me to explore her more fully, or if she would bolt from the bed and apologize for having the misfortune to have fallen into it with me. I didn't know...and didn't care.

She was silky smooth, and slept heavily as I traced her back. I had never known the curve of a woman's back could be so enticing. If she was willing again, I desired to press my mouth over each inch of her flesh, and curl my arm about her waist, bringing her closer.

That was going to be impossible at the moment, because I had discovered that we had moved much more than our hips during our lovemaking. My leg was throbbing painfully, and my arm felt weak and tired. I was exhausted everywhere else, but watching her sleep - nude, no less - was far more satisfying than even a second of rest.

I tried not to think about what she had said about conceiving. It was bad enough that we both had children out of wedlock from other people - it would be quite inconsiderate if we did it again. And I was certain she would not marry me, even if I begged. I dared not think about the consequences if she did indeed find herself pregnant. The absolute worst thing in the world would be if I passed on my visage to a child. I could speak for my own actions - I would love any child just as much as I loved Charlotte. But what about her? I didn't think she would do as I believed my own mother had done...drop me into a street ditch, and allow fate to step in. I hadn't thought of that screwy old man in ages, though at times certain smells would send me back into the tunnels of my mind. Fish, in particular, which I abhor eating now, as well as anything remotely resembling onions or cabbage. I had cut my teeth on food that dogs hesitated to eat, and for so long it disinterested me to the point that I had looked rather like Rebbecca.

Before I had hired the cook, I kept myself fed on cheese and wine, and any smoked meats that didn't require Madame du Brul's inexpert and disgusting experience. Now all I could hope for was someone to care for me towards the end of my years, with much better care than I had been given as a child. Charlotte, I hoped, would do so...and if I were fortunate enough to have another child. My stomach tightened at the thought, and I looked down at the sleeping woman at my side.

What if she were already pregnant? I knew without a doubt I had to get to that letter, before she somehow stumbled across it. I could not have been more cruel to her. Literally...I had written something unspeakable. Something I had known would cause her to want to leave, and never look back. I had made a grave mistake, and misjudged her terribly, but there was still yet time to fix it. She never needed to know that I had thought something so base and foul about her. I had wanted to hurt her before...punish her. I didn't want that now, and it was imperative that I find a way to tell her something else about the promise without her becoming suspicious.

The last thing I wanted was to destroy whatever friable emotions she held for me. Holding her, and knowing she trusted me, I doubted that I would ever feel this content again. She had breathed life into me, and given me purpose. I wasn't yet sure what that meant...but it sounded promising.

- -

Evangeline jerked the same instant I did, her ears perking to the sound of someone calling my name...loudly...in a sing song voice, and it sounded like they were right outside one of the doors to my room.

"Ev-a! Er-ick!"

"Oh no," she whispered, sitting upright. The sheet fell to her waist, exposing so much skin I was surprised my mouth remained closed. She glanced at me, then smiled shyly as she tugged the covering over her body. "You don't think she'll..."

A door opened no more than three feet away from us, and I found myself looking into wide blue eyes.

"There you are!" Lacey exclaimed, looking at us both in consternation. "I've been searching everywhere for you. What in the world is so interesting up here, anyway?"

I cleared my throat, and merely looked at her. Eva closed her eyes and lay back down, pulling the sheet over her head entirely.

"What have you been doing?" Lacey asked, a perfectly innocent smile on her face.

"Napping," I said blandly.

If her grin widened more, her cheeks would reach her ears. "In the nude?"

"Madame, could you give us some privacy?" Eva asked, muffled beneath the covers. "I will be down shortly."

"Certainly," she said, a tad bit cheekily. "Your sister wanted to have a word with you before you retired for the evening. Shall I tell her –"

"No!" Eva yelped.

Lacey finally left, smiling and chuckling to herself, leaving both of us to tend with mortal embarrassment. I saw the sheet begin to shake, and I tugged it down enough to see Eva laughing silently.

"You find this amusing?" I asked, trying my best to look stern.

"What else could I find it, if not amusing?" she chuckled. "Though I really should not laugh. I have set a terrible example for two young girls."

I leaned over her and placed a soft kiss against her lips, silencing all laughter and amusement with one single touch. "The girl has bats in her belfry," I murmured, then kissed her again.

"You shouldn't say that," she whispered as my mouth trailed across her cheek. "If she hears you, her feelings will be tremendously hurt."

My desire for her had already been stoked, long before Lacey had come through the door. I had watched Eva sleep, dozing myself for a little while, but wanting to savor every moment with her rather than not remember it. She gasped as I cupped her breasts then kissed her throat, and I knew if I pressed her further she would willingly go with me again. That knowledge would have to be enough to satisfy me, because the last thing I wanted was to get caught in the act. Or to have to contemplate her becoming pregnant any more.

She let out a dissatisfied sigh when I leaned back against my pillows, tugging the covers back over her body.

"It is for the best," I said quietly.

"I know," she whispered, sitting up to look at me. "I'm sorry, Erik."

Her answer pleased me no more than my declaration, and I chided myself when I thought that perhaps she didn't want my child. Surely I couldn't be so petty to believe that...but the idea niggled in my mind long enough to be distracting. There were other factors involved than just me, and just her. A million reasons why she definitely shouldn't get pregnant...but the thought of it was in no way revolting to me.

"If you are...," I cleared my throat, then looked away, "...I will certainly make things right. If that is your wish."

"I'm not," she replied shortly, then stood to dress.

I watched her without shame, enjoying curves and shapes that I had not been able to enjoy as she lay on the bed. She was a fascinatingly beautiful woman, and I couldn't understand why Zachary would have ever let her slip away. I would have given up boxing for her. What fool wouldn't give up taking a beating from another man? The alternative was definitely much better...having a beautiful, vivacious red-head bear your child, and be there to protect them both. I knew virtually nothing about Zachary, but I knew he had never deserved her. Not a touch, not a kiss...certainly not the right to share a child with her.

"Do you need anything?" she asked softly over her shoulder as she struggled with the buttons of her dress.

"Something to eat," I said politely. "Perhaps some company later this evening."

"Erik..."

"Bring your dominoes set. I shall attempt to redeem myself, or allow you to beat me again."

"Allow?" she repeated, giving me a wide smile. "I don't think you allowed me to do anything."

As if unable to resist, she sat beside me on the bed another moment, tracing my face in her hands. A sad look entered her eyes, and for the first time I felt that it was not about the way I looked.

We leaned in for a kiss, softly tracing one another's lips, and tasting each other. Her tongue touched mine, and I couldn't stop the sharp exhale that she elicited from my body. She kept me drunk...intoxicated, and I wanted to stay that way forever. My vision blurred by the sweet wine she fed me, and I kissed her deeper as she made a noise, my left hand tangling in her hair and holding her close.

It was as if we poured everything in that kiss, because we both suspected that things wouldn't be the same. She wasn't going to profess undying love for me, merely because I had brought her pleasure, and I couldn't, because I wouldn't allow my heart out of its cage again. She held the key...if she only knew she held the key...but I didn't think I would ever place my trust in her the way she said she trusted me.

Eva leaned back, kissed me one last time, then left.

I prayed that the look in her eyes would not haunt me forever, but I suspected that it might.

------

I posted, then took it down so I could add this note. I'm going out of town Thursday, and I'll be gone all week. Thank you to everyone who offered their condolences, and for being supportive and understanding. I'm trying to plow through this story, because I wanted to include a Christmas scene before Christmas. It doesn't look like that will happen, so you will have to enjoy it after the holidays. Also, check out Raoul's story (Bleeding strands of Fate) It will be a side story to this one, and may offer some key parts to Beyond. Thanks again.


	59. The Beat of a Heart

Disclaimer: Not Mine

After this chapter, there will be an update for Raoul's story, then I will hopefully see you all in a week. Thanks for reading, and have a Merry Christmas.

Eva

My face burned as I entered the room to see my sister. I suspected Lacey would have divulged everything to her, and judging by the look on Rebbecca's face, she had. Rebbecca sat up in bed reading, a sullen expression as she pointedly ignored me.

"Rebbecca?"

"Evangeline," she returned, not looking at me.

I crossed my arms and stared down at her, waiting patiently until she looked at me. Long ago it would have been I chastising her for behavior I knew that our parents would have been appalled at. Now it seemed that old age had caused me to forget about what I had constantly preached to her...chastity and virtue. Once I had lost my virginity, it no longer seemed to matter that I restrain myself...at least where Erik was concerned.

"It's really not your business," I said quietly.

"No?" she murmured, looking suitably indignant. "My sister is sleeping with her employer, playing nursemaid to him, and I'm supposed to find as much humor in it as Lacey?"

"I didn't say that you should find humor in it," I reminded her. "I said it was not your business."

"You've been gone the better half of the day!" she exclaimed, "Why, you've barely been to see me since I woke up. If this is an indication of how much you missed me, why didn't you just leave me there?"

"Rebbecca..."

Guilt punched me squarely in the chest, and I sank down beside her on the bed. I had been so concerned with helping Erik survive and cope with his injuries and the humiliation he had endured...as well as fighting and failing to deny the attraction between us...I had been ignoring the sole person I truly had in my life. My poor sister, who I had tried so hard to save, and finally succeeded with the help of a man I was going to fall in love with, whether I wanted to or not.

"I'm sorry," I whispered, taking her hand in mine.

She looked away as silent tears rolled down her cheeks, looking dead, vacant, and defeated. "You don't know how lonely I have been. How much I needed you...and you were never there. Eva, I don't even want to live anymore."

"Oh God," I breathed, and gathered her into my arms. "Please don't say that...don't ever say anything like that to me. Rebbecca, you're all that I have left. The only family I have. You must know how much I tried to free you all these years. I've been paying money to a guard at the hospital all this time. I thought I was helping, but Victor knew about it."

She sobbed, and I held carefully, not wanting to hurt her fragile body. I prayed that she would keep finding the strength to survive, and the will to live. I prayed that that place had not made her unstable, and that she could recover from more than just the physical scars it had left on her.

"I...I had a child," I murmured, and felt her go completely still.

"You what?" she whispered, pushing out of my arms to look at me.

"I had a daughter, exactly the same age as Charlotte, who will be six in a few months." Rebbecca's eyes widened a great deal, and she frowned the way our mother often had. I took a deep breath and closed my eyes, tuning out the blinding rush of pain, and killing the tears that threatened me. "She died at birth, in Salpetriere."

"With Erik?" she asked, looking confused.

"No." I paused, knowing this would likely shock her more than anything else about me. "Zachary Rougette."

"That...that...hideous brute?" she stammered, her face wrinkling in disgust. "My God, Eva, what were you thinking?"

"I was thinking of a way to protect myself from _your _husband!" I snapped, instantly defensive of Zachary. "He may not have won any beauty prizes - "

"Now that's an understatement!"

I glared at her, " - but he was loyal, and strong, and just what I needed at the time. Don't you dare judge me for choosing someone like him. Or like Erik, for that matter. I would rather jump from a cliff than take your opinion of a good man. He gave me a beautiful child, whom I never held, so don't ever speak about Zachary that way. At least he was good to me!"

Her face became drawn and tight, making me regret my words instantly. She had been so very young - was still so very young - when she had chosen Victor. Barely sixteen, and the man had taken advantage of her in the worst possible way. Taken her trust, her innocence, then her freedom.

"I'm sorry."

"I think I have endured your company long enough. You may return to your tryst upstairs."

"Rebbecca, it isn't a tryst. I...I care about him," I said softly.

She scoffed, rolling her eyes. "Yes, by all means fall in love with your _employer_, Eva. He's just a rich old man with wandering eyes and vulgar thoughts."

"He is not old! He's only thirty seven."

Rebbecca arched her brow, giving me an exasperated look. "That is old, Eva."

"No," I said slowly, "when you meet him you will not think that about him. He's a good man...and who is to say I don't have my own share of vulgar thoughts?"

She remained mute, obviously still angry with me. I kissed her cheek and left, knowing that I really needed to stay and make peace with her. She was different, I realized suddenly. Bitter and full of anger, not that I could blame her. And very cynical.

Lacey had a completely different outlook on men. On Erik and Raoul in particular. I didn't believe her spirit had been broken. Perhaps it had been stronger to begin with, though I didn't doubt she had endured great pain for undoubtedly remaining bright and wholesome, while Rebbecca had withered away, probably willing herself to die.

Despite my better judgment, I found myself going to my room and retrieving the domino set and stopping by the kitchen for Erik something to eat, then going back upstairs to Erik, promising myself one match. He was asleep when I arrived, his leg propped on some pillows, and his arm slung across his bare chest. I set the tiles up quietly at a table beside the bed, then sat down at his side.

He woke immediately when I touched his stomach, nearly hitting me in a sudden, panicked outburst.

"You...you startled me."

I smiled, easing his guilty look with a gentle pat to his arm. "As long as you never truly hit me, I promise I won't hit you back."

"I've never been hit by a woman before," he murmured, looking thoughtful. "I wouldn't expect it to hurt as much as a man."

"That's an odd thing to say," I said softly, though I knew he would be an expert in such matters. "Perhaps I shout outwit you then, instead of beating you senseless." I pulled the domino table closer and set his food beside him. "Which would you like first?"  
I chuckled as his eyes strayed to the food, and I handed him a fork.

"Don't you want some?" he asked, glancing down at his full plate. "Or have you already eaten?"

"I haven't," I admitted, then accepted a bite he offered from his fork. His eyes darkened, which was to be expected after the 'mmm' noise that I made. I did it again, and he lowered his gaze to his plate, obviously not hard pressed to find his libido.

"Would you like more?" he asked, sounding somewhat hopeful.

"No," I chuckled, turning my attention to the dominoes. "You eat...I'll shuffle."

- -

He beat me twice, and I blatantly cheated the last time to win, though if I had concentrated more on the game, and less on his eyes I most certainly would not have lost at all. I could tell he very much wanted me to crawl into his bed and stay, but I knew what would happen if I did. And he had already complained of his leg aching, so I knew that we had probably harmed it during our strenuous encounter.

"You can stay," he said quietly, staring down at his hands. "Without...anything. Just like last night."

I swallowed hard. I wanted more than 'without anything'. I wanted much more, and it frightened me that I was so willing to give myself over to this man. He could break my heart in an instant, then where would I be? And I could very well do the same to him, and hoped that I never did.

But wasn't that just love? Either you risked it all, and had the chance of something beautiful, or you did nothing and earned nothing. I wasn't certain what I had to lose, other than my heart. And maybe that wouldn't be the worst thing in the world to lose after all. I had never been in love before. Perhaps it was easier than people made it out to be. Perhaps not. I wouldn't find out tonight, in any case.

"My sister...," I began hesitantly. "She's feeling rather abandoned right now."

"Of course. Then you must go to her."

"She's angry with me," I explained, "she thinks I've been corrupted."

"By me?" he smiled, looking pleased. "I rather like that."

"I can tell," I murmured, shaking my head slightly.

He nodded slightly, and gave me a soft smile. "I will see you in the morning, Evangeline."

My chest started to throb inside, and I resisted rubbing my hand across it to stifle the disappointment and resentment that built suddenly inside. My sister needed me far more than I needed to lie in his arms. To feel his breath against my cheek, his hands in my hair...our hips pressed together.

Yes...she needed me more than I needed any of those things.

And if I believed that, I was a better liar than I was a cheater.

Which was exactly the reason why, after sitting with my churlish sister until she finally fell asleep, I crept back upstairs and into his bed. Words were not needed as we reached for one another, and his gentle smile was all the encouragement I needed to accept his touch and affection...he kissed me, and caressed me...and in the end he held me close without demanding anything. I drifted off with my arms around his chest, and his arm around my back, listening to the steady rhythm of his heart.

It sounded as if it beat wildly in time with mine.


	60. Cracked

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

Someone was confused about the time line for Raoul's story. He arrived at Erik's the morning after the ballet (the morning after the steamy bath scene, etc.) and this is still 'the morning after'. Zachary visited him in the early morning hours. This is more like afternoon.

_Erik_

Being bedridden frustrated me, but I was able to make it to the water closet and back without too much agony. And without Eva, which was a plus, because it was far too mortifying to ask a woman for help in that regard. I struggled to put on a pair of clean pants, and was fastening the buttons when I heard someone clomping up the stairs. Eva had just fled the room after hearing a crash downstairs, and embarrassed to be seen coming from my room yet again, I had told her how she might leave through her own bedroom.

"Did you find the culprit?" I called out, and when they came closer I realized it was not Eva, but de Chagny. Amazingly I didn't feel anything other than a mild irritation. How could I feel anything negative, when I was still soaring from my encounter with Eva last night?

"Alas, it was your daft house guest," he answered, though my question had not been meant for him. "She was practicing pirouette's in your hallway, resulting in the demise of some of your furniture."

"Daft?" I repeated, giving him a disapproving glance. It was one thing for me to say it, or think it. But I felt a little annoyed when he did it. As if having her in my house made me somewhat less respectable than he was. And that was something I had always dearly wanted, and never would achieve. I wanted to be more of a man than he was, in every regard, and I knew there were some areas that it would never be possible. "She is my ward now. Under my protection. I don't take kindly to your criticisms of her fragile state of mind."

"Fragile?" he echoed, his mouth turning up slightly, despite a strange, sad look in his eyes. "I have seen fragile – she is definitely not fragile."

I stared at him for several moments before I eased off the bed and staggered to a chair. I was no longer so weak that I had to put up with him standing at my bedside, looking at me as if I were some sort of specimen. I wasn't up to sparring with him, but I wasn't willing to lay in front of him, feeling defenseless any longer.

"I assume you are referring to Rebbecca. Pity, I had hoped she was recovering," I said softly.

"No, I wasn't," he said, frowning. "But she is an excellent example of unsoundness."

"She isn't one of your prize horses."

He gave me a rueful smile and nodded. "Quite so. But I was commenting on her state of mind, not her confirmation." He pulled a chair away from my writing desk and sat down, tracing the shape of his hat brim in his hands. Looking fairly nervous, he glanced up at me and cleared his throat. "There is something I must discuss with you."

"What?" I asked suspiciously. "About Charlotte? Because I let you take her last night as a show of good faith, but that does not mean - "

Raoul held up his hand, giving a slight shake of his head. "It has nothing to do with her." He sighed, and blew out a great breath. "It has to do with Evangeline."

Ice settled into the pit of my stomach, making it difficult to breathe. What was it he had to say? That he had discovered what we had done last night, and he did not approve? Not that it was his business, but for some reason I knew that if he had, I would be greatly embarrassed. Not because it was improper – though it was – but because I felt he would find it humorous that I had 'seduced' a woman, (not that I believed for one moment I had actually seduced Eva), looking as I did. And not that he would know that in the past five years I had not done so numerous times...but he likely did know I had been a virgin when I had accepted Christine's offer of filial affections.

I squirmed uncomfortably when he looked up at me again, and I cursed myself for being so damned trivial that I needed anything at all from him. I had slept with his fiancé, and here I was looking for his approval...what was wrong with me? Why did I want him – or any other man – to look at me with a measured countenance full of respect? Why did I need that so badly?

"I received a visitor this morning," he informed me. "A Monsieur Zachary Rougette."

My face must have fallen considerably, because he glanced away, tightening his hands over his hat. The rhythm of my heart increased exponentially, and I felt a pounding rage enter my veins unparalleled to what I had ever felt towards him. Zachary? Zachary had come looking for her now? After all this time, he had finally summoned the brains to find her?

"I'm sorry, Erik."

"Why would you be sorry?" I heard myself murmur. "She means nothing to me."

I stared off across my room, not seeing anything, and hearing the echoes of my lie reverberate throughout my head. Nothing? That was the biggest lie I had ever told in my life. _Nothing?_ I was a bastard, and I didn't deserve her, but it didn't stop me from wanting her.

"I didn't tell him anything," he said softly, and I heard the pity in his tone. The complacency he wished to share with me, so that something as dreadful looking as I would not feel the slightest bit afraid. Coming from him, it was worse than any other singular person in the world. Coming from him, it was positively humiliating.

"It is of no consequence to me," I snapped, glaring at him. "She may do as she pleases, and I will not be bothered in the slightest!"

"Erik..."

"Shut up. Just shut up. I have no need for your _protection_!"

He backed out of his chair just as I thought of lunging towards him, the anger beating in my body so hard I was surprised to find myself standing. Swaying unsteadily, I sat back down, impulsively hiding half of my face from him. I was back to the pathetic, worthless monster...and to complete my shame...Raoul de Chagny thought to protect me from losing Eva.

She wasn't mine. So how could I lose her?

Yet my heart was doing somersaults, and my stomach doing wicked things that made me think of retching. I felt ill, and quite cold, and I could do nothing more than stare at him in wounded fury. It was all his fault, I decided instantly. All his fault...it had always been his fault.

"So if I tell her he's looking for her, you won't mind?" he asked, and I could see the challenge in his eyes. He wanted me to admit something to him that I had no intention of revealing. I closed my eyes and took several deep breaths, beating my hatred behind a wall of indifference. Tucking it back there safely with my fear and my anger.

"No," I said coolly. "Why should I mind? I have no rights to the woman. She is merely an employee, and that of course is not permanent."

He crossed his arms, staring, and I finally looked away. The peace and wonder I had felt since she had come up last night – after telling me that she would not be back – was gone. I had gone to sleep after she had told me she wouldn't be back because of her sister...I had felt like weeping, and even after drifting off the first time I had woke up wanting her. Then the sensation of the bed sinking with her weight, and the slide of her skin across my chest had brought me immeasurable peace.

It was gone. I had found something peaceful, and it was gone. By the way things were looking, she would be gone as well.

"I think I'll let you tell her," he finally said, giving a little shrug. "I can't see her wanting to contact that man, but he said that she knew where he lives, so I suppose it will be her choice. She is your _employee_, after all. So you may tell her – or not tell her – as you see fit."

"As if I would keep something from her!"

"Please yourself, Erik. You often do."

"Where is my daughter?" I asked, merely to remind him that she was mine.

"Downstairs with your_ fragile_ house guest," he scowled. "Do you really think it is wise for her to be chaperoning her? Her nut seems a bit cracked."

"Well, for now she is my nut. And I think chaperon would be the perfect position for her," I said decidedly. "Yes, that's what I'll do then. Lacey will become Charlotte's chaperon."

He gaped at me, and I registered the look of disbelief in his eyes. It brought me some measure of satisfaction to flip the rug from beneath his feet, and watch him flounder as he tried to grasp my meaning.

"Chaperon? Erik, you are surely jesting. That woman is cracked, and well you know it!"

"She is harmless, and I won't have you interfering."

"She's crazy, and she has no business being around my daughter!" he roared, breathing anger and fire at me.

"Crazier than your wife?" I drawled, and watched a shuttered look enter his eyes. "And I will remind you, just this once, that Charlotte is _my_ daughter. Not yours."

He turned away from me, his bearing rigid and stern. I had taken the focus from Eva, and placed it on his own discomfort now, and with great relish. I hadn't realized until just this moment that I felt any sort of loyalty to Lacey at all, and it was with some surprise that he considered her inferior to Christine. Christine had likely been riddled with depression...this young girl I had brought in to my house was one of the most cheerful people I had met. And I had yet to witness her and Charlotte together, but I had no doubts about her suitability.

"Charlotte is becoming out of control," he said quietly. "She had become increasingly ill mannered and spoiled. If you do not find a way to reign her in, you will not be able to do anything with her."

"She is not your livestock either," I said shortly. "And not your concern for that matter. Lacey will be perfect for her..."

Especially if Eva leaves, I thought. She would be perfect for her...

"Lacey?" he snorted. "Is that really her name?"

"I highly doubt it, but it is of no consequence."

"You cannot be serious," he continued, turning to face me. "_Lacey _is not suitable for a young girl like Charlotte._ Lacey _does not have the maturity, or the intelligence to influence a young child in a _positive_ manner. And to top off her list of unsuitability, she's cracked!"

"Oh!"

A feminine sound of dismay drew our heads around. I spied the girl we had been discussing standing at the edge of the room, her hands drew over her mouth, and a sudden brim of tears in her wide, heart broken blue eyes. She had the scarf clenched in her hands, and for the first time I saw the horrible haircut she had given herself, making her look in fact, quite a bit mad.

"Madame – " de Chagny began, and in an instant those eyes that had been filled with mirth since I had first gained consciousness turned hard. Hard, and filled with hate.

"Cracked?" she repeated quietly, staring at him with malevolence. "Unintelligent and immature?"

"I..."

He glanced at me, and I gave him a helpless shrug. It was far too delightful to watch this. I expected her to launch into a dramatic speech about why she had been in asylum. About the injustice of her life, and the pain she had endured. I knew in that instant that she was not the slightest bit crazy. She was unbalanced a bit, perhaps, and was still struggling to find her feet. But more than anything I suspected she was thrilled beyond measure to be out of that place.

My throat tightened, because I knew precisely how she felt. I had felt the same when I had been released from the servitude of the gypsy's.

Lacey shook her head slightly, and closed her eyes for a moment. When she looked back up, she ignored Raoul entirely.

"Charlotte wishes to see you, Monsieur Chartraine, and Madame Novelli sends her regrets that she will be spending the afternoon with her sister. With your permission, I will bring your daughter upstairs, after your _guest_ has vacated your chambers."

She said it with utmost grace, and with an accent more suited to the aristocracy that Raoul was part of, than the bumbling gait of a woman who was happy merely to be alive.

"Madame, if you will allow me - " Raoul tried again, but her sharp glance cut him off.

"To apologize?" she offered silkily. "I don't need your apology, Vicomte de Chagny. I need nothing from you, and certainly not your approval. You sir, are an ass!"

So much for her flawless manners, I thought, but I could not suppress a grin. It pleased me to watch him flounder, and for her to gain her feet with each step she took, advancing on him. She didn't stop until she was nose to nose with him, and her finger shook only slightly as she jabbed it into his chest.

"You...you...Unscrupulous swine!"

With a disdainful snort, she turned and left us. I let my head fall back against my chair and chuckled.

"You handled that well, de Changy. Perhaps you should leave – before the mad woman decides to strangle you. I shall let her...provided she lets me witness the occasion."

- -

Does anyone remember what color Lacey's hair is? I'm short on time, but I think I made her blond. If anyone remembers, let me know.


	61. A Key

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

_Eva_

Rebbecca seemed a little calmer, and I spent most of my time reading to her because she said her eyes were so tired that the words blurred too much for her to concentrate. I was alarmed by her quietness though, because she had never been a quiet girl. But she was so silent and listless that soon I was regaling her with stories about Charlotte's antics, hoping to draw even one smile from her. It was fruitless...and more so when Charlotte herself came into the room to meet Rebbecca for the first time.

Madame du Brul had tried to halt her from coming in, but once Charlotte had seen me it was pointless to argue with her.

"Eva!" she shouted so loud that Rebbecca flinched, and I immediately clapped my hand over her mouth to prevent her from making more noise.

"Charlotte, this is my sister," I said softly. "You must be very quiet, because she is tired, and must have her rest."

She wiggled out of my arms and approached the bed, too young to notice anything amiss in Rebbecca's weary face. "I went to a ballet last night! Have you ever been? Because my Papa took me to the ballet, but we didn't watch it all, and now I have a house!"

I listened to her ramble on for a few moments, noting that Rebbecca gazed rudely away, not wanting anything to do with the child. She expressed no false excitement, or a willingness to listen to what the girl was saying, and I detected coldness in her eyes when she finally shot me a glance that spoke of her displeasure.

"How nice for you," she said in a low voice. "Forgive me, I'm simply to exhausted for a visitor. Eva..."

"Come Charlotte," I said, pulling her away from the bed. Her brown eyes were alight with a story of magic and adventure, and I knew more than anything she wanted someone to listen about her night out with her 'Papa'. "Rebbecca is very tired...have you told Lacey about the ballet yet?"

"Oh, yes," she exclaimed. "I showed her how they were dancing...that's how Papa's vase and table got smashed to bits."

I detected a slightly evil smile on her face, and knew she was secretly pleased to have caused destruction, because she knew she had gotten away with it. Even if she had not been the one to do the damage.

"What about Madame du Brul?" I prompted, and she nodded, and yet again when I mentioned the cook. I sighed. "Am I the only person you have not told about the ballet?"

"Papa," she said, meaning Erik. "Lacey is going to take me upstairs...she went to see if he was receiving company today."

I crouched down and smoothed her hair away from her face, conscious of my sister glaring at me over Charlotte's shoulder. "I'll come by this evening and you may tell me about your night. But I must sit with Rebbecca for awhile, and you are far too rambunctious today to visit with her. And when you visit your father, remember that his leg and his arm are hurt, and you must not bounce on him again."

She nodded dutifully then threw her arms around my neck, and I hugged her tightly to me, realizing at once how much I had missed her over the course of the last few days. She had been in someone else's care for the first time since she had been born, and it made my heart ache to realize how little she might need me. But her cheeks were wet when she pulled away, and I knew just looking at her she had missed me just as much.

"I love you, Lotte," I whispered, and she bravely smiled and kissed my cheek. At times, she could be the perfect child. At others...she was a complete terror.

"I love you, Eva," she said softly. "Will you play my song for me later?"

"I most certainly will. As long as you behave yourself. We must start your lessons again soon, or you are libel to forget all that I have taught you."

She shot a dark look at the ceiling and rolled her eyes. "I never forget anything. And I'll be good." She flashed an innocent smile first at me, then at my sister.

Somehow I didn't believe her for one moment.

- -

"She's a remarkable girl," I said softly once we were alone.

"What do you think you're doing?" Rebbecca asked sharply. "That girl has parents...I saw the way you were looking at her. She isn't yours."

My heart tightened, and a trace of anger flew through me, but I bit my tongue. She was right...and it was likely plain on my face now. Since Christine had died, I had not tried to hide the way I felt as much. Because she didn't have a mother...and I didn't have my daughter. Why shouldn't I consider her mine, even if I could never acknowledge it? And now that Erik and I had...well...I tried to shut out those thoughts, but they were far to delicious to ignore.

"Stop that!" she snapped, and I wiped the smile off my face. "You don't belong here, Eva. We have an inheritance. You should not be working here, we should go to father's solicitor and claim our inheritance."

"My inheritance," I said slowly. Her face drained of color, and she simply stared at me. "If Victor has not sold his personal house...and if he in fact has any money...and provided he left it to you, of course, then that is yours. If he has not spent my inheritance...because I assure you that yours is gone...then I will claim it, as well as father's house. But you're wrong. I do belong here. Even if I had the money, I wouldn't want to leave."

Her lips tightened, and eyes filled with tears. I regretted being harsh with her, but I wondered if I would ever see my cheerful sister again. She had been replaced by this cold and bitter person, one I didn't recognize.

"I am your only family!" she yelled, trembling slightly. "I am all that you have. They mean nothing to you! Do you understand? And you mean nothing to them. You are merely a servant, and now you have chosen to take that man as a bedfellow. He doesn't care about you – "

"That isn't true!"

"It is true. The only thing he cares about is getting up your skirts!"

"Rebbecca, that is uncalled for," I said harshly. "That man saved your life, at the risk of his own!"

"And now he is taking out the trade of the bargain on your body!" she exclaimed, anger clouding her eyes, and her rational mind. "You allowed Zachary Rougette to do the same! Your protection for his lust! It sickens me! I had no idea my sister was a trollop...no idea you were nothing more than a lightskirt." I was halfway between anger and shame at this point, because part of what she was saying was true...but her next statement I could not reply to. After she made her next statement...I was completely unable to speak. She lifted halfway off the bed and narrowed her eyes. "If I had known what a slut you were, I would have gladly traded places with you. Doubtless you would have enjoyed the attentions of the guards far more than I ever did."

- -

I refused to cry...and refused to leave her side and give her more ammunition against me. After an hour, she apologized, but I remained mute. I had spent the last few years dreaming of the moment we would be reunited, and she had been unspeakably cruel. I was falling in love with a man that true...I barely knew...but I was falling so hard and fast that I had already swept past smitten, and was well into obsession. Yet even while I knew that Erik cared for me, I knew that what we had done wasn't quite right. It hadn't felt wrong...but that didn't make it right.

I thought about Erik for most of the day, and kept my face turned away from Rebbecca. She tried to speak a few times, but I couldn't respond. My throat was tight with unshed tears, and I felt guilty at the resentment that plagued me for having to care for her.

I was relieved when Raoul opened the door, and broke some of the tension in the room with his disarming smile.

"Have you seen Lacey?" he asked, a worried look on his face.

"No," I said quietly, my voice rusty from my forced silence. "Why?"

He frowned, and entered, shutting the door firmly behind him. I knew without looking that Rebbecca disapproved of him in the room. No doubt she thought I had done favors for him as well.

"I'm afraid I said something unkind about her, and she overheard me. I've been waiting for her and Charlotte to come down from Erik's room for hours, but I just went upstairs and he was asleep. They weren't anywhere around."

"Did you try the hothouse?"

He nodded. "I've tried every unlocked door in this house, and most of the locked ones. I hate this damned place...," he sighed. "...better than his last home though."

"What did you say about her?" Rebbecca asked, and at her tone I knew her anger had not left her. She had vented on me earlier, but she was still very, very, angry.

He hesitated, and glanced at me. "I should like to keep that between Madame...between Lacey and myself. It was insensitive enough the first time I said it."

She snorted, and waved a hand through the air. Her pale, thin arm looking grotesque in the evening light. "Let me guess. You called her crazy? A lunatic? Or was there something else, Vicomte?" she snarled softly. "Perhaps you have questioned her morals, or her -"

"Rebbecca, that is enough," I interrupted, and threw him an apologetic look. He had blanched at the word crazy, but I suspected there had been much more. "Please...I'll help you look for her. Did you try all three floors?"

I guided him out into the hallway, shooting a glare over my shoulder at Rebbecca's disapproving stare. To anger her, I placed my arm over his shoulder before I shut the door.

"She seems waspish," he said, giving me a worried look. "Have I done something to offend her?"

"No. She is...she is wounded and taking it out on anyone who gets near," I said brusquely. "Now. Where have you not looked?"

"Well," he thought for a moment. "I could not open the door to that beautiful library that Erik received me in the first day. Do you happen to have a key for it?"


	62. A Secret Lady

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

_Erik_

"You can come out now," I said quietly. "He left over five minutes ago."

I heard shuffling beneath the bed, then a giggle. I closed my eyes, praying nothing indecent had ever made it's way under there. I knew for certain it had never been cleaned...and I dared not mention spiders for fear of the shrieking that would likely ensue.

"Are you certain?" Lacey asked, then more noises. Charlotte giggled again, obviously thinking it was a wonderful game. But the look on Lacey's face when she pulled up beside me told me she didn't find it in the slightest bit funny. "I really...really don't want to see him, Monsieur."

"Stop with the Monsieur bit," I said gruffly. "I think we're beyond formalities."

Her chin wobbled, as she helped Charlotte straighten her dress, brushing away dust and cobwebs. I caught my daughter's eyes and gave her a smile.

"Charlotte, why don't you run down to the kitchen and see if there are any cookies? I think Lacey might like a cookie, wouldn't you Lacey?"

She tried to nod, but her face crumpled and she turned away. I forgot all about my delight in seeing Raoul's discomfort as she tried hard not to cry in front of Charlotte.

"Okay," Charlotte said softly, noticing Lacey's tears for the first time. "Would you like one too, Papa?"

"No, just save Lacey's for her, okay?"

Charlotte smiled uncertainly at Lacey and took off full speed, going out the way they had come in. I watched as Lacey moved to a chair and sat there, looking miserable. Her eyes refused to meet mine, and I was glad she had never heard me say anything derogatory about her. I felt terrible for ever saying it now, because I could see beyond the brave face she had made since her release.

"I spent my adolescence in Bicetre," I offered softly. "I do know a bit about what you're going through, Lacey."

"Diana," she whispered, glancing at me. "That's my real name. You may inform the Vicomte, if you wish. I'm terribly sorry if I insulted your friend, but – "

"Friend?" I chuckled, startling her. "No. No, he is not my friend. And if you would prefer Lacey, then I shall call you Lacey. Now that I know you are not a Queen, and only a mere Goddess, then I must accede to your every wish."

She attempted to smile, though it was a rather sickly one. "Goddess?" she repeated, almost wistfully. "Then I would have been worshiped, and all the world would have feared angering me. I would have been a rather cruel Goddess, I think." She lifted the blue scarf up and wrapped it around her dark blond hair – what was left of it, anyway – and dried her eyes. "I used to dream that someone would take me from that place. You came, but I thought you were there to hurt Rebbecca."

"No," I whispered, my throat so tight I couldn't breathe. She was breaking my heart, with her sad blue eyes, and the sudden worship of _me _that shone there.

"I was going to offer myself instead," she continued, looking away. "I often did, so the other girls didn't have to endure as...as...m-much..."

She stopped and swallowed, but her eyes had already filled again, and she trembled so hard I thought she might fall from the chair. I couldn't do anything. She was sitting on the opposite side of the bed, and I didn't think it appropriate to touch her anyway. I didn't want to frighten or hurt her after all that she had suffered.

"Lacey, you are safe in my home," I said gently. "And if it is your wish, then Raoul de Chagny will never come here again."

"He will find me. He always does," she said dully.

"Raoul?" I asked, sitting up quickly.

"No. My husband. He will find me...he promised he will always find me."

I shook my head quickly, half turning towards her. "No. That will never happen!"

"It will," she cried, her hands tightened into small fists. "It always happens! Do you know how many times I have run away? He always finds me! He will, and he'll put me somewhere else this time. Somewhere dark, and I shall never see the light again!"

"Lacey, it's impossible. No one knows you're here."

"_He_ knows," she hissed. "He knows I'm crazy, and he will find out who I am! The Vicomte will turn me over. He knows me! Did you know that? He already knows me, and he doesn't even _remember_!"

"Come here," I said quietly, patting the side of my bed. She glared at me accusingly. "No, I'm not going to hurt you. Just sit beside me and tell me how he knows you. No more shouting, because I cannot keep it secret if the entire house knows."

Slowly, hesitantly, she moved to the edge of the bed, though it was evident she was mistrustful. I turned back to face the foot of the bed, giving her ample time to relax before I spoke again.

"When did you meet?" I asked softly.

"When we were younger," she whispered. "My...my f-father was a baron." She glanced at me quickly. "Must I say which one?"

"No. Not if you don't want to," I said reassuringly.

"He held a ball every year, but I was still in the schoolroom. I was too young to attend, but my nanny let me slip down and watch one night, when I was fifteen. I would have been able to go the next year, but my father died, and his holdings went to a distant cousin. He never held any sort of functions, because he knew that the nobility was very pointless here. Not like in England of course, and – "

"You're rambling."

She took a breath, but her hands were shaking, so she tucked them beneath her legs. "Right. Of course I am. I always do that. Ramble, ramble, ramble." She took another breath and closed her eyes. "The...the Vicomte. Of course. He was around twenty two or so. This was several years ago...I'm at the age he was now. It was just before he married his wife," she said softly. "Charlotte's mother, if I've understood everything correctly."

Lacey glanced at me, prompting me to confirm her suspicions, and I nodded. "Yes. That is all that we share. Not friendship. You may insult him all you wish."

She smiled a little, seeming to like that idea, or perhaps she was caught up in some memory. I was glad for the distraction in any case. Raoul's life had intertwined with mine far too much, and his news about Rougette had not pleased me at all. I wasn't certain if I could look Eva in the eyes or not. And I really didn't want to tell her about him anyway, but how could I lie to her?

"He caught me," she said softly, with a troubled smile. "He was searching for someone...and he found my nanny and I in the hallway, watching the party. I introduced myself, of course, though it was very improper for me to do so. Dressed in a beautiful gown, though not elegant enough for a ball. And when he found out I who I was...and why I was spying...he offered to dance with me. It was so...so..."

I rolled my eyes, picturing a young de Chagny...all that long hair, and irresistible smiles, sweeping yet another woman – girl really – off her feet. It was obvious she had been more than half in love with him, and now he didn't even recognize the girl she had been. Only seeing the shell of a broken woman, and calling her insane for the simple fact of her previous residence.

"He married his wife not three months later, of course," she whispered, sounding a bit sad. "But I used to think about that dance when I was in Salpetriere. It helped to remember a man who wasn't cruel, who wasn't mean. Who didn't...who didn't hurt me." Her eyes turned to mine, a lost expression on her face. "But it wasn't real, was it? He is just like the rest of you."

"I'm not – "

I stopped, remembering that letter in the library, and all the things I had done to Christine. Yes, I was. I was a bastard. Just like de Chagny. I was just like the rest.

"I'm sorry, Lacey," I said quietly. "Diana."

She sobbed and turned away, burying her face in her hands.

"Don't...don't ever call me that again."

"I won't," I promised. "And when I am able, Lacey, I will make certain you are safe forever. I will figure something out. But you must tell me the rest. I need to know who you are married to. I need to know everything."

"No!"

"It's the only way," I said soothingly. "And I promise you that you don't have to do anything you want. You may tell me when you are ready."

She glanced at me over her shoulder, looking at me with hope and fear. "Promise?" she whispered, then gave me a wobbly smile. "No one has promised me anything in a long time. Are you really so certain you can protect me, Erik?"

I hesitated, thinking suddenly of Raoul's interference in the guard's fun at the hospital. If Lacey's husband was a doctor he may be able to obtain Raoul's name since he had so cleverly used it...and if I remembered correctly he was on staff at Bicetre. There were few dots the man would have to connect to lead him to me, and the only break in the connection would be if Raoul remained silent about Lacey. No doubt the cover up was going to encompass both women I had taken - and they would want to make certain those women didn't mysteriously reappear. Especially the one Victor had valiantly tried to 'save' at the time of his death.

"Lacey, I give you my word, that I will protect you all that I can," I said softly. "If you want to leave the country, or move somewhere even I cannot find you, then I will give you enough money to relocate. If you want to stay here, and become a chaperon to my daughter, then I will pay you handsomely for your services. I'm a generous employer, even if I'm a bit odd looking. And my...my other employees are not allowed to leave...under normal circumstances. I assure you that all the traffic in and out of here is usually strictly forbidden. Once I have regained my health, it will all go back to the way it was."

"Aren't you worried about my intelligence?" she asked sarcastically. "My maturity, or my tendency towards mental sickness?"

"No. I'm not. Raoul can go hang himself, for all I need of his opinions. My daughter is what is important, and I think you would make a fine chaperon. If a baron's daughter could lower herself to enter such a position, of course," I added gently, not knowing if she still clung to any part of her old life.

"Doctor's wife," she corrected, then glanced at me. "I stopped being a baron's daughter just before I turned sixteen. And I married just after I turned seventeen. I've...I've no interest in remembering that part of my life. It is pointless, I'm afraid, because I will spend the rest of my life hiding my identity. Provided he doesn't find me."

"If he finds you, he will also find me."

She sighed heavily and said nothing, probably thinking that if I had taken a beating from a group of teenagers, I didn't stand a chance against a full grown man. I wasn't willing to share any part of my own past with her though - not because I thought she was crazy - but because I knew of her penchant for talking, and I feared she would inadvertently let it slip. To the cook. Maid. Gardener. My daughter. I wondered if she might have already concluded my identity...or if she knew Christine had been ill herself. Either way, I hoped she would be sensible enough not to repeat that information to Charlotte.

If I had my way, Charlotte would never know that both of her parents had been institutionalized. Whether we had needed it or not.


	63. Any Manner Possible

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

_Eva_

"Not here," I said quickly, and tried to pull the heavy door shut. His hand reached out and halted the movement, and he obviously thought I was trying to hide Lacey, instead of trying not to look towards Erik's desk.

I had taken him through the passageway near my room, coming out at the top of the spiral staircase, and he hadn't said a word as I navigated to the unlocked door that Erik had taken me through the night of my tour. I didn't want to look towards the desk...yet I did. And with the evening light streaming through the windows, it seemed to place a beam right down to the center of the room, illuminating that dark wood and beckoning me like a siren.

"If it's all the same to you, I shall investigate myself." He pushed past me, sliding a look out of the corner of his eyes when I groaned. "Is something amiss?"

"No. Not at all."

He muttered something as he descended the stairs, and I followed slowly, remembering how dizzy it had made me last time. Or perhaps it had been Erik's nearness. I didn't feel dizzy at all right now, though my heart was pounding as I crossed the room and looked around. Looking anywhere but at that damned desk.

"She isn't here," he said unhappily. "My God, I made a royal ass of myself earlier."

"Lacey doesn't seem like the kind of girl to hold a grudge," I said gently, shifting my focus gladly to him.

"I was very cruel. I...I don't even know why," he mumbled. "Something about her earlier...damned scarf..."

"I beg your pardon?" I asked, confused.

His hands braced on the back of a chair, and he lowered his head. "She reminded me of Christine earlier. Foolishness. She's nothing like her, of course. Just a memory I had of her once," he whispered.

My heart softened towards him, and I remembered the grief in his eyes the day she had died. The day Erik and I had visited him. The first night he had said goodbye to Charlotte, before the funeral. He had loved Christine deeply, and most likely always would.

"You miss her still, don't you?"

Raoul nodded slowly, taking deep gulping breaths of air. "I will always miss her, Eva. She was...she was more than a wife to me. A friend, more than anything else, really. Still very much a girl at times – and I...I resented that often. But I never meant for her to die. I never thought I would cause her death."

"Oh, you mustn't think that," I exclaimed. "You know she was delicate...there was every chance she could have passed any number of ways."

"But she didn't, did she?" he bit off. "She died because I gave in to her wishes – "

"Her wishes, Raoul. She wanted to give you a son. James – "

"Don't," he rasped. "I can't speak of him."

He drew in several breaths, and I knew he was in his own world. Remembering his wife. Thinking of a time before the saddness. Before he had become a lonely man without a wife and a daughter, only left with a son who was a stranger.

I wasn't sure I could bear it if he became as disconsolate as he had before. He seemed suddenly distant, and I was a little embarrassed to remember I had patted his back as he had sobbed. I really didn't know him all that well, apart from having lived with him and worked for him. I knew nothing of his inner thoughts, except for a few inner demons he refused to let go. He seemed so intent on punishing himself – but in time hopefully his child could help him heal.

"Lacey! Lacey!"

I heard Charlotte's voice, and it sounded as if she were shouting from the foot of the stairs. I sighed and moved towards the door, but he halted me immediately.

"No. I shall. I shall," he muttered, turning away. He unlocked the doors from the inside and strode out, leaving me alone. With Erik's desk. In Erik's library. Even though my back was to the desk, I could hear his words calling my name.

I smiled despite my uneasiness, and shook my head, heading towards the doors. I didn't need to know what the promise was. He could tell me himself when he was ready.

Yet my feet stopped me just before I left the room, and I turned back promptly. Maybe I would just confirm that there _was _a letter. I didn't have to actually_ read _it. I glanced over the neat mess of his desk, and found a white envelope, sealed cleverly with a red wax skull. I thought it a touch morbid, but I supposed such things were amusing to him. After all, he was a man pretending to be a ghost, though I thought he might argue that he was a ghost pretending to be a man.

My name was scrawled across the front, and I held my breath as I lifted it, finding it heavy from the imprint of the seal. The skull felt cold to the touch, as it was quite freezing in the shut-up room. So much that I noticed now that I could actually see my breath. Existentially I knew that I should not open it. My brain knew it. My heart dreaded to learn the truth – he had said I would hate him, of course – yet my good sense was struggling with every other part of my body.

In the end it was my hands that decided for me. They opened it, not allowing my brain to register for several moments even as my eyes began to recognize the paragraph was merely a few sentences long.

_Madame Novelli,_

_If by chance something has happened to me, then I know I have already instructed you on the decisions regarding my daughter. The reason for this note – as we agreed on – was to inform you of the perhaps ill advised promise you accepted, and I am merely fulfilling our agreement. Your promise to me and this would only have held true if I had survived the hospital – which I must not have done was that you would leave my home and say goodbye to Charlotte. You would have done so in a way that ensured her heart would not suffer, and if that meant you must take the sole blame then I was not against that. I did not wish for my daughter to hate me, so you would have made certain she knew nothing of promises and hospitals. I fear you have grown too attached to her. Attached in an unhealthy way, and because her mother is dead you wish to take advantage of the vacant position. I have no desire to replace Christine, and I am against your presence in my home. She is my daughter. Not yours. Not Raoul's. Not even Christine's any longer. Mine, and I refuse to allow the memory of her mother to be compromised by a mere governess. Though I am sorry for the loss of your own child, you must realize that my daughter is mine. Charlotte will never be yours. She is not Amber. She never was._

_Erik Chartraine_

- -

Through my tears, I no longer saw the words. Each sentence had dealt me a blow, one I was unsure I could recover from. And with the conclusion of the note – the exact moment I read his name – I remembered the look in his eyes as we had made love.

How could this be real? How could he have written this...when he had given me so much? How could a man that I had fallen in love with ever believe this about me? How could I love such a man? Did he think it still?

I sank to the floor and began to cry, numb and shocked at what he had written. I read it again - just to be sure - yes, there it was. His cruel words, and the real reason he had agreed to risk his life. Not for any noble reason at all. For selfishness. Pure selfishness, and he obviously thought I was out to steal his daughter.

Raoul's words came back to haunt me. Erik was deceitful. Erik was self serving. He would hurt me, and was untrustworthy. And I had defended him, because I didn't believe the man had ever had anyone take a chance on him. I didn't believe those sad eyes could be so vicious. I felt betrayed, and sick, and deep inside I knew he meant every word - partly because they were almost true.

I grew still finally, my sobs giving way to anger. How dare he say that? That my attachement to her could be unhealthy? That I was compromising the memory of her mother? What _memory_? That special one hour per day that was alloted to her, usually in the presence of some of her society friends, so that she could recount all the lessons she had completed that day? Or the sessions where Christine played dress up, and allowed her daughter to tell her how beautiful she was, but never allowed her to participate?

I thought about Erik lying up there, injured and hurt. Taking my affection and attention, and now knowing what he secretly thought of me. Had it changed merely because we had made love? Had it changed at all? Or was that just another bonus that I was stupid enough to throw in for the poor defenseless Phantom? My jaw tightened, and I tucked the letter into my dress then dried my eyes. I would not allow Rebbecca to give me any sisterly told you so's. I didn't want to hear anything about her being right. I didn't want to believe that he could have actually thought that about me. I didn't want to think now - period.

_Hadn't I promised to keep his promise?_

My heart sank as I remembered the worst part of the letter. Worse than him calling me unhealthily attached to his daughter: that I would have to leave her. True, I did harbor deep affection for the girl. _I loved her with all my heart._ I loved her because Amber was gone, and Charlotte was all that I had left. I had not tried to replace Charlotte's mother. But I _had_ tried at times to replace my daughter. It was often hard to ignore that little voice inside. The one of possession - the one of utter devotion and love. Motherly love. I loved her as my own daughter. I had from the first moment I held her.

I rose and went upstairs, constantly drying my eyes as I did so. Charlotte was sitting on her bed, playing with her dog, and she smiled instantly when she saw me, launching into a story about hiding under filthy beds and eating oatmeal cookies. I listened vacantly, memorizing her face, as if I didn't know it by heart. Her voice. Until she finally stopped speaking, and I crushed her to my chest as sobs tore through me. I had always tried to hide my tears from Charlotte - but her father had made me cry harder than ever before. He hurt me more than I had ever been hurt in my entire life.

"What's wrong?" she whispered, sounding afraid. "Eva?"

"I love you, Lotte," I whispered back, but could say nothing more. She crawled into my lap and I rocked her on the bed, breathing in against her hair. She smelled dusty...and I could see cobwebs tangled in her dark curls.

I was instantly angry at Erik for taking up the last three days of my life. Days I could have spent with Charlotte, if he was still intent on making me keep the promise.

And why should I stay now - knowing what he thought of me? How could I? Because my desire and love for him had flattened, and I wasn't sure if I could live in the same house with such a cruel man. One who would use his daughter as a pawn in some sort of game...one who believed that I could take her from him so easily. As if I would. As if I could.

"Will you play my song for me?" Charlotte asked softly, stealing a glance at my ravaged face.

"Yes." I gave her a trembling smile. "Anything you want Lotte. _Anything_ at all."

I couldn't face Erik tonight. I wasn't sure if I could see him tomorrow, or any day after that. One day he would walk down those stairs, and I knew I would still want to feel his arms around me. I wanted them now. I wanted to hear his apology...I wanted to know why he would force me to leave. Things had changed between us...hadn't they? Hadn't they changed now, so that maybe his opinion of me was different. Maybe he wanted me to take Christine's place now. Maybe...

I stopped my weak thoughts. I was angry with him, and I shouldn't start wishing for anything from him. Especially not now that I knew the truth. Now I knew what I had promised him. Now I knew what he really thought of me, and what he had 'been thinking about since he laid eyes on me.' I had been flattered to think it was sex and desire. I was outraged now to find out he merely wanted to get rid of me, in any manner possible.

But what was I going to do about it?


	64. Disapproval

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

_Erik_

Lacey eventually left with drier eyes, and I managed to get out of bed and relieve myself without mishap. Then I decided to shave, after realizing I looked like an Alpine mountain man, but my good luck departed. I nicked myself several times, sitting at my desk with a small cracked mirror and a scowl that wouldn't leave. I hated shaving most of all because I had to look at myself, and since I had a growth several days old it was nearly impossible to get the razor through my thick stubble. The swelling had gone down in my face on the left side, though it was hard to tell if the right was swollen or not. Perhaps it was my 'normal' face - I really did suspect that it was - but I could always hope that the beating had changed it for the better.

I even managed to bathe myself, but to my regret I was not interrupted by Eva. I was missing her already, but I knew her sister was not being the nicest of patients. Even worse than me, perhaps. But Lacey was not a very good nurse. She had not even offered me food when she left, and I was growing desperately hungry. I had a stash of old bread and cheese in a stoneware crock that I really didn't want. I stared at it, my appetite growing with each second, and I finally succumbed, vowing to fire Madame du Brul for not having the good manners to feed me.

It was growing dark when I finished, and I was very bored with my own company. Why wasn't Eva coming up? Even for a moment...just to say hello...just to say goodnight? Would she come back like before and curl up beside me? I finally went to bed with hunger still gnawing at me, and wishing she would stop by, then mocking myself for thinking I might mean something to her. My irritation was high well into the night. Every time I woke up I felt a little more angry. A little more fearful. Maybe Raoul had told her about Zachary, and she was already gone. Or maybe she was regretting what we had done together, because it might complicate it if she wanted to go back to him. I knew I could make it downstairs if I really needed to, but I was too afraid of what I might find.

In the pit of my stomach I feared she had discovered the letter. Feared what she might think of me, and hoped she understood my need to be cruel.

Of course she wouldn't understand. I had judged her too harshly, when she had given me nothing but kindness. I was a fool for thinking that even if she did find it she would come and talk to me, instead of instantly hating me as was her right.

It was a long unrestful sleep, and I finally greeted an gray unmannered dawn with red eyes. Swollen from exhaustion and a hundred bouts of near tears. I tried not to give in, but the urge seldom left me. I had dressed to the best of my ability and was sitting at my desk by the time I heard footsteps. I stared eagerly at the door, hoping to catch a glimpse of golden eyes and red hair. A wide smile, and perhaps a look of longing.

Instead it was Lacey again, and she was only greeted with kindness for the simple fact that she was bringing me a heaping plate of crepes.

"Good morning, Erik," she said cheerfully, though her smile was strained. "And aren't you looking handsome this morning, without all that facial hair?"

"No need to insult me. Just give me my breakfast."

"That isn't nice," she scolded gently. "You are very handsome, and this is _our_ breakfast."

"Ours?" I licked my lips, staring at the entire plate. "There isn't another plate of crepes in this entire house?"

Lacey chuckled. "Of course there is. But this one is all _ours_."

"Madame -"

"Chartraine," she said decidedly, giving me a shy smile.

"Excuse me?"

"I have a new first name," she shrugged. "I might as well have a last one to go with it."

I stared at her several moments, then my eyes slid to the food. Either her entire morning was being spent solely to aggravate me - or she merely wished to torture me. "May I eat while you tell me why you've chosen that name?" I asked hopefully. "You forgot to bring me an evening meal last night." She gasped, and hastily served me half the portion of crepes. "And lunch," I added, then earned the other half of the stack.

I ate with relish for several moments, thanking God I had finally hired someone who could cook. I had probably lost a stone in the last week, since none of the females taking such good care of me fed me more often than twice per day.

"You're old enough to be my father," she observed quietly.

I choked on a crepe, coughing up bits of strawberry glaze into my hand. "Wh-what?" I gaped at her, "_Father_?"

''Don't kill yourself,'' she said irritably, standing up and moving across the room. ''If you don't like the idea, just say so.''

I wiped my hand against a napkin and glared at her. ''How old do you think I am, Lacey?''

She shrugged. ''Forty five?''

''No,'' I said shortly. ''I'm thirty seven!''

"Oh. Well, then obviously you started young – "

"Fifteen?" I shook my head at her, and her face fell. "Lacey, Charlotte would be very confused if I were to claim you as mine. Her mother just died recently, and she has a new brother that I'm not certain she is fond of. I would be more than happy to share my name with you. As an...uncle, or perhaps a cousin." Her eyes lit up, and she nodded, but I held up my hand. "As long as you are aware that my name is just as false as yours."

"What do you mean?" she asked, looking confused. "Didn't your parents give you a name?"

"No, some nuns in an orphanage named me after their founder, as they do all of the nameless children that wander astray. There must be a thousand Erik Chartraine's in this city by now, to my figures. But it suits me well, as I have no wish to be the only one."

"That must have been very confusing," she said slowly. "How did you know which one they were calling when you got in trouble?"

"It was well timed," I admitted with a wry smile. "The name Erik was usually called, and if you were the one they were referring to, simultaneously a ruler would come across your ears. But there were usually only two or three Erik's there at a time. They gave us the name so that if anyone decided to come looking for a lost child, then it made it easier to find them."

"With a thousand of you running around Paris? That hardly makes it easier."

"Well...they gave us all variations on the same name. Some of us had the middle name Erik. Some, like me were just given a first and last name. And some had a middle name with Erik as a first name. I think across the street at the girls orphanage they practiced the same theory, though an 'a' was added to the end. Though I doubted very much that anyone would ever try to find any of us. We were not wanted, otherwise our parents would have found a way," I said softly.

"You kept your name," she whispered, giving me a shy smile. "You must have hoped..."

I didn't answer, and turned back to my plate. Thinking about my parents had never done any good, and I didn't want her to get some idea that I had kept it for some sentimental reason. Hoping that someday someone might contact me and tell me it had all been a mistake. I had bounced out of a carriage, and my poor mother had been heartbroken when she realized I was gone.

Or I had been kidnapped and held for ransom, then the heartless thieves had left me for dead in a drain pipe. My mind had pictured a thousand scenarios when I had been younger, but as I grew older the truth had finally sank in. I had been abandoned by my mother, most likely, because of my face.

And no one would ever convince me otherwise.

"Niece," she said firmly. "I will be your niece. Your late brother Garin's daughter, orphaned and all alone."

"Garin?" I repeated, smiling reluctantly.

"Well, I had a brother named Garin when I was young, but he died at birth."

"Lacey, in all likelihood you will not need a cover story. I never leave my home, and likely you will not either. Charlotte will be permitted to accompany Monsieur de Chagny occasionally..."

"Oh," she whispered. "And I will have to go with her, won't I?"

"That is the duty of a chaperon," I said gently. Her face twisted with unhappiness, and I added hastily, "But I see no reason that Madame du Brul cannot take your place on such outings. She will no doubt love a night or two off to attend an opera or a play."

"An opera?" she repeated wistfully. "I've only seen one. _Romeo and Juliette_. I barely remember it, for I was all of ten years of age. Papa let me attend so young because I demanded it, and he always gave me what I wanted – within reason."

I said nothing, for I respected Gounod. Mostly because of _Faust_. And because he was a well known composer and I was not. But _Romeo and Juliette_? I was not overly fond of Shakespeare myself, because it was filled with too much romance, and far too much drama.

Not that Don Juan had not been...but I had been a villain in that opera, though not a beloved one. Nothing like _Hamlet_ or _King_ _Lear_. No one really felt sorry for _Don Juan_. Though no one has ever seen it performed to the end.

"Well," Lacey said brightly, "I must get back downstairs. Rebbecca needs me all day today, and I fear my patience with her will run through before another hour passes."

"Wait," I said quickly. "Where is Eva?"

"With Charlotte."

My heart skipped a beat, and I pushed the plate of crepes away from me. All that sweetness now gave me a queasy feeling, combined with the fear of why Eva wasn't rushing to come back upstairs.

"Why isn't she with..." _me? I wondered silently, though I didn't say it._ "Rebbecca?"

"Rebbecca is being mean," she said, rolling her eyes. "Can you believe it? I mean, she should be so happy that she's out of that place, and all she can do is snap at everyone. Especially her sister."

"Why?"

She stared at me and then looked at the floor. "I didn't think she would take it so badly. I thought it was romantic and sweet...and I was slightly envious. So I told her about...about you and Eva." She bit her lip and waited for me to lose my temper, though I held onto it remarkably well.

"What did Rebbecca say?" I asked, my stomach tight at the thought of disapproval she must have felt.

"She called Eva names, and said you were a lecherous goat."

"What sort of names?" I demanded, my insides twisting tighter. "Why hasn't Eva come back?"

"The usual names," she said vaguely. "And I would be glad to convey your wishes when she returns. She took Charlotte to do some shopping in town, I believe."


	65. Circles

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

_Eva_

Madame du Brul had been greatly upset when I took Charlotte from the estate, and had refused to come with me. The driver had reluctantly obeyed my wish to leave, and I couldn't help but feel a vague sense of unease as well. Erik might not appreciate me breaking one of his cardinal rules. Though Raoul had taken her – he had been given permission – whereas I had not.

"Where are we going, Eva?" Charlotte asked, her face filled with glee. "To Papa Raoul's?"

"No, Lotte." I smiled down at her, feeling a touch of sadness. "We _ladies_ are going shopping! Isn't this fun?"

"I suppose," she said, though she looked back worriedly at the estate. "Why couldn't Lacey come?"

"Lacey is taking care of your father, and Rebbecca. We will return shortly," I promised, though my heart was not really in coming back.

The house had suddenly become oppressive, and I had simply needed to get away. But not without her. For once, I wanted it to be just us for awhile. Just Charlotte and I, with no Erik peeking through a wall, and no one looking at me with accusing eyes, thinking I was trying to steal her affection for my own. Which was precisely what I was doing today, but no one needed to know that but me.

"We're going to buy some hair for Lacey and Rebbecca. Won't that be nice?"

Charlotte brightened. "Oh, yes. Won't they be pretty?"

"They will. Now, we must choose something very lovely for them. Red for Rebbecca, and a nice blond for Lacey."

Charlotte nodded, and from the moment we entered the wig makers, she was enamored with many of the styles of wigs. None of which would fit properly on her head because of her own mane of unruly hair. I only hoped she didn't take it into her mind to cut her own hair. I would have to remember to hide the scissors when I returned, otherwise we would have three bald women to buy hair for.

"This one, Eva?" she asked, pointing to a long flowing mane of dark auburn hair. "It's like yours."

"It is," I murmured, and the wigmaker happily pulled it down.

Rebbecca and I were the same complexion, and it suited very nicely, though I ordered it to be cut several inches shorter. I chose a short bob of cheerful blond curls for Lacey, and the man nodded approvingly when I picked two more styles for each of them. They would be pleased, I hoped. Rather, Lacey would, and I could only hope that Rebbecca was.

"Are we going home now?" she asked.

"Not just yet," I said, feeling a bolt of panic. "Let's walk down the street and look at some dresses. Perhaps we shall have a dressmaker come out and fit you for some new gowns."

She seemed to love the idea, and we were soon looking through windows at the new displays for children's fashion. I hadn't realized how much I missed Paris until we were strolling along those store fronts, and I could smell the city as it came to life in the early morning.

The scent of bakeries, and cafe's. Tearooms opening their doors to servants, and the clamor of Paris as I had never seen it before through the eyes of grown woman. Charlotte trotted along happily beside me, though soon she was complaining of her feet tiring, and that she was hungry.

Reluctantly I guided her back towards the carriage and helped her inside. She chattered like a magpie the entire way home, and I tried to listen though the shock of the night before had not left me.

I still didn't know what to do about Erik. I could no longer face my sister, and I wasn't certain what I should say to him. Should I be angry and demand answers? Or should I try and listen, and hold onto the hope that he was sorry?

Or do nothing, and take my sister home? Say goodbye to Charlotte, and not even confront him? For the first time in my life I had risked my heart to someone, and I was so afraid now that it had been broken. Afraid that he was incapable of feeling affection for anyone except his daughter. That he would never love anyone as he had loved Christine.

What was I but someone who had shared his bed? Who he – if I were to paraphrase the letter – didn't necessarily like? Before he'd been beaten, we had shared nothing beyond glances and biting words. He had not approved of me being in his house from the beginning, and I feared that he had only gotten to know me so that he could get rid of me. I feared that I was not significant enough, or beautiful enough, to have changed his mind.

I was not Christine. He had all but said so himself.

- -

"Erik wants to see you," Lacey said distractedly, adjusting her new wig. "Do you think this looks close to my real hair?"

I stared for a moment, remembering hers had been thick and wavy, not quite so curly. "It's perfect," I said softly. "What does Monsieur Chartraine want?"

Lacey shrugged. "To see you."

"Does he know I left today with Charlotte?" I asked slowly.

"I told him." She flashed a gamely smile over her shoulder. "Forgive me. Secrets are not my forte. Unless they are my own."

"It wasn't a secret. I just didn't feel I needed to inform him of my every action," I said defensively. "Is he angry?"

"Like a bear," she said. "I forgot to feed him yesterday – twice, apparently. I'm afraid I'm not very good at being a nurse."

I prayed that she would make a better _chaperon_, which I had discovered this morning with not just a little jealousy. Quite a bit of jealousy actually, because until then I had actually _liked_ Lacey. Now it seemed Erik wished to replace me. He had actually made Lacey part of his family. Given her a connection to Charlotte that I would never have, and was prepared to acknowledge her as Charlotte's cousin. Erik's niece. Perhaps if I was out of her way that would morph into lover, and maybe wife.

The Chartraine circle complete, and we Novelli's could get out of his hair for good.

"He's been grouchy all day. He was a bit grouchy yesterday," she told me offhandedly. "I think it's just his nature. He manipulates you with his very grumpy and gruff manner, until you want to do _anything _for him just so he'll smile."

I backed away from her, appalled at the sudden urge to snatch that wig off her head. Maybe I should have thought twice about getting her something that would make her more attractive to him. Not that I had any reason for the thought to cross my mind before.

I shouldn't be jealous of this poor girl, for heaven's sakes! She had already caught me in his bed. I couldn't imagine that she was malicious enough to want to replace me. Especially so soon after leaving the abuse of the hospital. There were still bruises visible on her arms, and I had noticed that both she had Rebbecca's teeth had loosened from lack of nutrition. She weighed far less than she needed to, and as of right now her skin was not in the best of health. I really should offer some of my face cream for her spots. Or maybe I'd just let her stay that way. Then I wouldn't think that Erik might find her blue eyes appealing, or her slender form attractive.

Or maybe I really needed to talk to him, and cease the foolish thoughts I had. And maybe vent, just a little.

"Will you go up and see him?" she asked softly, turning to look at me.

The wig was slightly too large for her head, and it didn't rotate with the rest of her head. She lifted her eyes towards it, grinned at me, then pushed the offending thing from her head.

"I...I'll think about it," I said quietly.

"You should," she added sternly. "He misses you."

"Does he?" I hated the eager tone in my voice, and the way my heart beat faster when she nodded. "How do you know? I don't think -"

"Don't think!" she cried, then grasped my hands. "Just go see him! If I have to go up there again and see how sad and unhappy he is, I'll scream. Forget about what your sister says. Erik needs you."

- -

As it happened, Rebbecca needed me. Madame du Brul stopped by my room long enough to inform me that my sister had fallen while trying to make it to a chair and badly sprained her ankle. If dealing with Rebbecca during a period of recovery from weakness weren't bad – then trying to help her when she was in pain went beyond my capabilities to be nice.

And we ended up snapping at each other a great deal, because I felt pain in my heart over Erik's words, and her ankle had turned a putrid shade of green and purple, and had swollen to the size of a lemon.

For once I was truly not able to go up and see him, and at the same time that I wished I could, I was grateful that I couldn't. Coward that I was, I just didn't know what to say to him. And the anger that I felt towards Erik transferred to Rebbecca.

And I knew that the anger I felt towards her would most definitely be taken out on Erik. Because I was rude to Madame du Brul, short with Lacey, and hardly loving towards Charlotte. And I was positively ugly to my sister.

I gratefully left her in Lacey's care after Charlotte had gone to bed, thinking Erik would owe Lacey quite a bit of money for all the work she was doing. Slipping off to the music room seemed the only natural thing to do.

Because it kept me from going upstairs, and kept me out of the kitchen and away from the horde of cookies stored there. And it eased my soul in a way it always had – yet I scarcely had time to play for myself. My father had taught me to play piano long ago. Rebbecca too, though she had never enjoyed it quite as much as I. I had picked up a few other musical skills along the way, though nothing that would rival Erik's. Never his.

But it was one thing to compose, to lose oneself into a world inside yourself, and _merely_ invent a song. A ballad. An opera...a symphony...

And another thing entirely to play, and get lost inside someone else's music.

I found quite a sheaf of papers inside the bench and plucked away at the bars, until I had his melody down. Until I was lost in his mind; in his music. There I felt part of him that I hadn't before. Not even in his presence, because he never discussed his work. I wondered if anyone had ever told him how brilliant he was. How wonderful.

I cried as I realized I might never have the chance.


	66. The Sight of You

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

_Erik_

I was clearly not in the best of moods when Lacey informed me of Rebbecca's misfortune. I hadn't met the girl yet – not properly of course – and she was already a thorn in my side. And it was with this mindset that I dressed fully, wearing my white mask and hair piece, and _slowly_ descended the stairs.

I didn't stand inside the walls and stare at her for hours, as I had done her sister. I simply waited until she was alone, and knocked quietly on my hidden door.

"Come...in...?"

She was sitting up and looking around the room when I cleared my throat, and her eyes went round as saucers as she caught sight of me. "May I still?" I inquired. "Or would you like me to leave?"

Rebbecca's mouth fell open, and she pushed herself more firmly against the pillows. Obviously I was not welcome, not that I had expected to be. But since it was my house, and I had saved her miserable life, I entered anyway. I kept to the far side of the room, shuffling painfully along with my trusty cane then sank down in a chair.

"Well," I said quietly when it was apparent she was not going to speak. "You were quite unconscious the last time I seen you, but I think you might suspect who I am."

"Have you come to plead your case?" she asked, her mouth twisting in a little sneer.

"I came to see why you're being a bitch."

"Ugh!"

"Don't start," I snapped. "I couldn't care less about what you think of me. You said something horrible to your sister, and she didn't deserve one damned moment of it. Especially coming from you!"

"You're a dreadful man," she whispered, slinking further away from me. "I want you to leave. Now."

"I'm dreadful because I refuse to put up with your ungrateful attitude? Or because I look like this?" I challenged softly.

"Don't be absurd. I can't see you. I can't see more than three feet away from me." A great pause, then: "What do you look like?"

"Somewhat less than what I expected a lecherous goat to look like, but probably not quite as handsome."

My joke did not amuse her, and she crossed her arms over her chest, wincing as her leg lolled off the pillow supporting her ankle. I wasn't sure what to say to her now. I had, of course, insulted her. Any favor she might have felt with me for saving her life was likely gone, because I had called her such a disrespectful thing. But I wouldn't take it back. She had called Eva worse, and after everything she had gone through it wasn't right.

"Your sister is _not _a whore," I said quietly. "She is a lady."

"She – "

I stood and moved closer to her bed, sitting in the chair beside her. Her eyes focused on the white of my mask, though her pupils were not quite normal sized. I wasn't sure, but I thought she might have lost some of her sight.

"Are you...blind?" I asked slowly.

"No!"

"Madame Clarke, I understand that you are in a great deal of pain. Not...not just physical pain..."

"Stop," she ground out. "I don't know you. I don't care who you are. Leave. Just leave."

Her thin arms clutched tighter to her small body, and I could tell she was afraid of me. I was awed by her unwillingness to show it, and wondered if maybe she had become like this inside that place as a way to survive. Surely this attitude had not manifested over the course of a week. This was the shell of a girl – a woman now – who was angry. Very angry.

Not with her sister, and not with me. Not with anyone in particular really. Anyone would do. She needed to rail against someone. And her anger might never fade. Or it might, as mine had over the years. But I knew that worse had been done to her than I had ever experienced. I had hidden myself from this sort of abuse and pain. Rebbecca had been exposed to it so badly that she barely lived.

"They were going to put you in the oubliette," I said softly. "Did they do that often, Madame Clarke?"

"Yes," she hissed. "Oubliette. Oubliette. Oubliette. I hate you...I hate you..."

She wasn't speaking to me, and continued to chant it silently. I had such hopes that I could reach her. Really, I did. Then she turned her sunken eyes on me, and glared.

"My sister and I are leaving," she announced. "She doesn't need you, and I sure as hell don't. We are going to claim our inheritance, and nothing you can do will stop us. Eva is my sister, and she is taking me away from here. She's taking me home."

"_This _is her home now," I said tightly.

"No," she spat. "She doesn't love you. She will never love you. I can't see how she ever let you touch her." She lifted her chin, and continued to smash my hopes, to confirm what I already knew. I certainly realized she was saying it out of fear and pain, and mostly anger. But that did nothing to quell the damage she was capable of dealing. "You're disgusting, and you took advantage of her."

"No," I whispered. How could she possibly know that I had tricked Eva...unless...

"Yes. You vile man, you used my sister. And now she's going to take me away from here."

I practically crawled from her room, ripe with pain and fear. Eva was leaving...my worst fears realized. At last, a reason for her absence. She must know about the letter. About Zachary. She was leaving, and going to him.

My eyes blurred, and I stripped the mask off and rubbed them wearily. My stitched skin was throbbing, and I pulled the rest of my disguise away from my itching flesh.

Vile. Disgusting.

No one had said that to my face in a long time. It burned. It _hurt_. It didn't matter that she was no better looking than I at the moment.

- -

Later when I heard the music, and I followed it. My breath caught as I stared at her through the mirror, her eyes closed, her head pitched forward. A red braid swung past her hips and held snug against her spine as fingers caressed the keys with the familiarity of a lover.

Music...how I missed it.

She looked over when the door opened, as if she had already known I would be there. The candlelight illuminated her eyes, making them glow alive and beautiful as I walked gracelessly towards her. She stopped playing and merely waited, quietly offering me a place beside her on the bench. I tossed the hairpiece and wig onto the top of the piano, once again baring myself to her. I always would, I thought. I loved the look in her eyes as she cared for me. She could look at me and not shudder, and oddly I felt comfortable enough around her that I didn't want the mask. Not as much.

Yes, I had a small voice screaming at me to cover myself. But an even louder one shouted to, 'Let her see!'

"You shouldn't be out of bed," she said softly, her voice strained.

I looked into her eyes and saw utter sadness. Despair. She had been crying, and looked ready to do so again.

"I..."

"Erik..."

We spoke at once, then stopped, neither of us sure what to say. Her breathing was hitched and unsteady, sounding rough and tumultuous, her hands trembling as they slid away from the keys.

"You found it, didn't you?" I asked quietly.

"I'm sorry."

I stared at her. "Why are _you_ sorry?"

"For finding it," she said dully.

I knew that she was. Not for breaking into a locked room. But I knew she would have rather not known, than this horrible feeling she had now. And I would rather have endured the fires of hell, than face this woman I had hurt so badly.

I swallowed my fear, and reached for her.

And my heart sank when she shot off the bench, and moved well away from my grasp. I turned my eyes down to the piano, concentrating on the black and white keys, willing my soul not to shatter.

"You'll never know how much I regret those words, Eva," I whispered.

"Which ones?" she asked, anger making its way into her voice. "The part about my unhealthy attachment to Charlotte? Or about me taking advantage of her motherless condition? Maybe," she breathed, "maybe it was the part about me compromising Christine's memory. Me...a _mere_ governess. Who has raised her, almost singularly. Who...who has held her each time she cried...and watched her grow...and...loved her! Yes, loved her!" she said fiercely.

"I know," I said softly, unable to look her in the eyes. "I'm sorry."

"You shouldn't have come in here and bothered me. I wasn't prepared to deal with you just yet," she said bitterly. "I'm too angry right now, and I don't think we should discuss this tonight."

"When...?" I questioned, then redirected it slightly. "When are you leaving?"

Her eyes widened, as if she had misunderstood. I had already talked to Rebbecca, but I saw no need to inform her of that. My pride was being cast off anyway, and I doubted very much I could ask her to stay.

"I didn't mean anything to you, did I?"

Too late, I realized that I had erred. Maybe she hadn't planned on leaving. Maybe I had fallen into Rebbecca's trap, and now Eva thought I was making her fulfill the promise. I pounded a fist onto the piano in frustration, quite certain now that there was no chance for me to make amends.

"What we did together is completely separate from your promise to me. Remember?" I reminded her sharply.

"No..._no_ that wasn't what I meant by that. I meant I would not exchange...favors...for promises or mysterious agreements. That I wanted what we did together to be a mutual wanting on both our parts."

"Oh. So it's only a _separate_ issue when you wanted it to be!" I growled.

"That isn't fair," Eva protested hotly. "Erik, that is not fair!"

"I'm not the one changing what I said to suit me!"

"Do you think I sleep with every man I meet?" she demanded. "Did you think I would take this lightly, Erik? If you were not demanding this of me, where do you suppose I would be?"

My throat was so tight I couldn't respond. Didn't she realize how much I wanted to be with her? How could she think a man like me could afford to lose someone like her? I needed her. I wanted her to stay. Why were we fighting, when what I really wanted to do was take her in my arms, and kiss away the wounds in her sweet, amber eyes...

"I do care about you," I finally said, though my answer came too late, and was not nearly good enough. "I care about your welfare. About your safety..."

Why couldn't I summon the right words? I was a master at twisting verse, at making things up in the blink of an eye. I couldn't find the right sentences to string together to tell her how I felt? What was wrong with me, other than bone deep fear?

"I can do without your particular brand of caring," she replied acidly. "I _trusted_ you."

"Yes, and I delivered your sister to you, did I not?" I said hollowly, knowing that she didn't mean my stealth abilities.

"That wasn't what I meant, Erik. I trusted _you. _Not the Phantom, not my employer. I trusted you, as a man."

Oh, God. Would the torment ever stop? And just when I thought I might actually have something useful to say, she hit me with this:

"I thought Victor was the worst person I had ever met. I thought I hated him more than anyone else in this entire world...Thank you for proving me wrong."

I blinked away tears and fixated my eyes on the piano. She was not the first woman to tell me that. Christine had told me that, the night of _Don Juan_. Which was why I never understood her reasons for coming back. Even if it was out of pity.

"You hate me?" I asked, loathing the despair in my voice. If she were going to leave, I should at least muster the dignity to not show her how much it hurt.

I couldn't. I simply couldn't hide my grief, and I nearly doubled over from the pain ripping through me. Her eyes leveled on me as I awaited her response, and I wanted to die as I heard her answer.

"Yes. I think I hate you with my entire heart. Does this surprise you? Because you said that I would...Well, you got your wish," she said scathingly.

"I didn't want this..."

"Too late. I cannot, and... _yes_ I'm going to say it...I cannot stand the sight of you a moment longer."


	67. A Thorned Rose

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

_Eva_

I had turned on him the moment he asked when I was leaving. Something inside of me had broken, and my heart had felt like stone. But the second those words left my lips, I had wanted to call them back. What I had said was so much worse than anything he could have put in that letter.

He hid his face, and my heart cracked inside from the hurt I caused him. I wanted to sink to the floor as his cane fell aside, and he walked stiffly to his hidden door. I wanted to call him back, and wrench his hand away from his flesh, and tell him I thought he was a beautiful man. On the outside, at least.

"I knew you wanted something from me," I said, just as his hand touched the wall.

Erik didn't turn to face me, and I wasn't sure why I was insisting on dragging this out more. It was over. I had said something unforgivable, when all I had wanted was the truth. He had hurt me, and I had wanted to hurt him back. But not shatter him. Not destroy him. I hadn't wanted to hurt him this much.

"What are you talking about?" he asked roughly.

"All your questions about my life. About my family – about Rebbecca," I continued accusingly. "You weren't interested in me. You were plotting the entire time. You deceitful man...You just wanted to get rid of me."

He didn't deny it, and I felt the sting of his betrayal more.

"Why didn't you just fire me?" I demanded. "Why didn't you just get rid of me in the normal manner? As a normal employer would do? You didn't care about my sister. You sure as hell didn't care about me! So why the games, Erik? Is this who you really are, then? Have I finally seen your true colors?"

"You obviously think so," he said quietly. "And..._normal manner_? I assure you, there has never been anything normal about me."

"Why did you do it like this?" I asked insistently. My voice had gone shrill, and there wasn't anything I could do to stop it. "Why? Why did you want to get rid of me _so_ much?"_ 'And then why did you make love to me, more tenderly and passionately than I had ever thought possible? Why did you have to break my heart? Why do you hate me?'_

"I said what I did so that you would leave. Because I knew if I said it like that, you would hate me enough to go. It doesn't matter why I did it."

"It does to me. It matters to me, Erik," I rasped. "Is...is that what you really think of me? Do you really think so little of me?" I asked in a small voice. One I hated, because it showed how much I still cared. How much I needed him to deny it all, and ask me to stay. Leaving terrified me. I didn't want to leave Charlotte. I didn't want to leave...him.

"Not anymore," he said curtly.

He was leaning heavily against the wall with his back still to me, but he straightened and half turned when I approached. "Erik I don't...I don't think I hate you," I whispered. "I'm sorry I said that. I don't want to be angry with you. I really don't."

"Oh, but you do it so well," he said bitterly. "You really know how to go for the jugular, don't you Evangeline? Maim to kill?"

"And your words hurt no less, I suppose?" I shot back. "You could have written anything, you know, and I never would have known any wiser. If you hadn't been beaten, then would you have said those things to my face? Would you have perhaps been just a little crueler, if possible?"

He didn't look at me until I touched his arm, digging my fingers into his coat. In his eyes I saw such bleak despair, such pain; it mirrored my own, and I hastily drew back. I hated what I had said to him, but I knew he wouldn't believe me if I said I hadn't meant it.

"I would have done what was necessary to get you to leave," he agreed slowly, his eyes catching mine in a hypnotic and painful spell. "If you want the truth so badly, then so be it. I wanted my daughter to myself, with no interference from anyone. What can I say? I'm selfish to the core. I've always known that, and I think you did too."

"No," I breathed. "I thought you were generous and kind. I thought you cared – "

"If I had cared, I would have broken into the hospital without mysterious promises," he said mockingly. "If I had cared, then I wouldn't have let you believe there was a chance that you could stay from the first day. Or that you would have to trade your body for anything. Obviously, Madame Novelli, I didn't care."

"Obviously," I echoed tonelessly. I moved away from him so he couldn't see my tears. "I don't think I want to hear anymore. I think I've heard quite enough." He didn't say anything, just stood there looking cold and grave. I knew he was still hurting from what I had said to him, and most likely always would. I hoped I had not destroyed all hope of ever seeing Charlotte again, because I didn't think I had the strength to live without her.

"You were right about part of that letter," I said softly, and his eyes jerked to mine. "I am attached to her. Very much so. And she has been mine in a way that she will never be yours, or Raoul's, or Christine's. I don't care if that offends you. I love that little girl – and yes – I do think of her as my own. I've tried not to, but I really didn't try that hard, to be perfectly honest." I dried my eyes, and fought the shaking in my voice unsuccessfully. "I've made a few mistakes with her, I admit. I even called her...called her by that other name before. When she was an infant. But I stopped..."

"Eva – "

"When she asks for me," I said, louder than necessary, trying to drown out his condescending tone, "you can send her to me with Lacey, or with Madame du Brul. And I know she will, so don't bother trying to deny it. I was more of a mother to her than Christine ever was. And I will always be that to her. Not even you can stop that sort of bond. Not even you can destroy it," I said with immense satisfaction, knowing my Lotte. Knowing how she would need me. Just as much as I needed her.

"You go too far," he warned softly. "Christine is her mother. What we did together aside, and this promise aside, I will not let you take that from her. Or from me."

"Then you may keep that memory," I said swiftly. "And I hope it is more pleasant than the one you had with me, such as it was."

I didn't wait for more. I left the music room and went straight to Charlotte's room, crawling in bed with her for the second night in a row.

She didn't wake as I slipped my arms over her and held her tight. Nor did she stir as I cried into her hair.

Nothing could prepare me for the morning, when I was certain I would have to leave. Leave her. Leave him. No matter how much he had hurt me, I knew that I loved him. I just prayed that I could fall out of love with him – quickly. Because I knew that I would see Charlotte again. There was no doubt in my mind about that. He might not like it, but he would permit it when she asked. Or more likely, demanded.

But I greatly doubted I would ever see _him_ again. And I wasn't sure if I could live with that.

- -

I didn't tell her until I had packed everything. Rebbecca was more than ready to leave, and Lacey kept Charlotte busy as I helped the gardener and Madame du Brul loaded my meager things into the carriage. I had nothing more than a few clothes, some books, and my father's set of dominoes. Feeling vaguely sentimental, and knowing I would be returning to my parent's home, I left it on my bed. For Erik or Charlotte to find, and I hoped I wasn't sending a sappy message to him that I hoped he would change his mind.

No matter that I did – but I didn't want him to know that.

The gardener placed Rebbecca gently in the carriage, and I went into the guest library with Charlotte. Lacey gave me a dissatisfied look when she left, and I knew she was not happy with us leaving.

"Lo-Lottie?" I whispered, kneeling before her. "I...I'm going away for awhile."

She stared, and I pulled her to me so that I didn't have to look into her eyes as I lied to her.

"Rebbecca needs special care, because she's very ill. I have to take her somewhere that people can care for her." Charlotte stiffened, and I held her tighter. "It's a place right here in Paris though. Just across the river, not far from your Papa Raoul's. I won't be very far away, Lotte. But...but I..."

"No," Charlotte whispered, pushing against my shoulders. "I won't let you leave me too!"

"Charlotte, please don't make this hard," I begged her. "I...I'll still see you, if you want. All you have to do is ask. Rebbecca is very ill. I have to take care of her..."

"You _liar_!"

I couldn't contain her any longer as she struggled, and I let her go. She glared at me with Christine's brown eyes, her wild hair strewn over her face. I had witnessed her tantrums for the last year, and I knew this one was going to be a grand one. As much as it pleased me that my leaving was going to affect her so, I hated to see her scared and frightened.

I placed a bright smile on my face, and tried hard not to succumb to a tantrum myself. "I will miss you, Lotte. I love you, and I hope to see you soon."

"Then leave! Just leave!" she shouted, and ran backwards to grab a book from the shelf. It sailed over my head and crashed out Erik's window, but she didn't even blink at me. "Leave! I don't want to see you!" she shrieked, then threw another book.

It hit the wall beside my head with a resounding thump, and we stared at each other for a few moments.

"I'm not your governess any longer, so I cannot correct you for that," I said softly. Her eyes filled with tears, and her face crumpled. "But I will always...always be your friend, Charlotte."

"Eva," she sobbed, her hands reaching out to me. "I'm sorry. Please don't leave."

I scooped her up and held her trembling little body, cursing her father for making me do this. If he hadn't asked when I was leaving, I might have begged if I could stay – promise be damned. My feelings for him be damned. All I wanted now was the one person he didn't want me to see.

"I have to," I choked, hard. "You...you be good for your father. And for Lacey. I will see you very soon. I..." I stopped before I promised, unsure if Erik would forbid her to see me or not. "I hope I see you very soon," I amended, and kissed her face.

I heard a door open beside us, and without looking I knew it was Erik. I kissed her again, my shaking hands brushing her hair away from her face. I was angry that he wouldn't even let me say goodbye without his damned spying, but at least she wouldn't be completely alone once I was gone.

"Go to your father," I murmured, setting her away from me. She did without protest, but I couldn't raise my eyes above the level of his waist as she stood in front of him.

I didn't look in his green eyes and see the unwelcome there. The silent truth that I was not part of his family, and I was not welcome. I stared at Charlotte a second longer and saw his hand descend onto her hand, caressing lovingly. She glanced up at him and frowned, though I didn't watch for his response.

For the first time I feared that maybe she wouldn't ask to see me, after all.

She certainly protested no more when I left. Not that I could have heard her. My heart was weeping so loudly that I never heard a thing.

- -

You want to kill me, right? Well, our main characters must suffer. Just a little. Or alot.

I forgot to mention this before, but Raoul's story was updated a few days ago. We may not hear from him for awhile. He has to ponder many, many things. The reason his story is seperate is because it will go on after this story is finished. His happy ending will not happen at the same time as Erik's. He has a much longer story ahead of him.

So I'm sorry for the confusion, but I don't think I could add it in now if I wanted to. It's taking on a life of its own.


	68. The Devil I Spawned

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

_Erik_

"Unh!"

I gritted my teeth, and reached for Charlotte again.

"Come down from there, before you hurt yourself." Or me, I thought silently, straining my legs and arms to try and touch her. "Charlotte, this isn't funny."

"Unh!" she moaned again, making this high pitched, highly irritating sound. "No! No! _Noooo_!"

I sighed and sank down into a chair, glaring up at her. My daughter. Sitting on top of a two hundred year old canopy. On top of a two hundred year old bed.

The canvas groaned, even under her light weight, and a large lump was visible in the center of the green silk top. At least if she fell (hopefully) she would land on a bed. Or she could miss and hit the floor, or the headboard, or any number of things could happen. And I couldn't do anything, because my damned leg was throbbing, and I couldn't lift my arm more than a few inches.

"_Lacey_!" I roared, "Get in here. Now!"

She appeared instantly, and I knew she had been lurking in the hallway outside Eva's bedroom door. I needed to get out of this room. It smelled like her. I felt her presence in every single one of my nerves, and my daughter danced on the last one when she launched her mutiny. And how she had managed to climb up there so fast, I was sure I would never know.

"Yes, Erik?" she asked timidly.

"Get her down," I commanded, so furious that I wasn't sure if I could control myself. "I don't care how you do it. Just get her down. Safely."

"Ung!" Charlotte did it again, and I lifted my shoulders to rid my ears of that annoying sound.

"I don't think I can," Lacey said meekly. "Erik...I can be a chaperon to the little girl that was here earlier. That sweet, _mild mannered_ girl." She shook her head, "This one...no...I don't think so. She threw a book at me!"

"And at me!" I snapped impatiently.

She shrugged. "Charlotte is your daughter. Not mine." Her words echoed the ones I had told Eva, which I thought suitably ironic. Or someone did, anyway. "If you want to lose an eye – go right ahead."

As if to prove it, a shoe came flying from above and caught me in the shoulder. A satisfied snicker was heard from behind me, and even my glare didn't silence it.

In the two hours since Eva had left, she had changed from disbelieving, to despondent...and now this. This...work of evil I had created. She was a more terrifying child than I had ever thought to be, and I had no idea how to correct her. I couldn't beat her (though it was tempting), and I couldn't console her. And this being the first day I really had to do anything other than wait impatiently for food, I was not in the best form. Or mood.

"Bring me a knife," I said loudly. "I'll just cut it out from beneath her. I hope she doesn't hit her elbow when she falls."

"Papa!" Charlotte gasped, leaning over to look at me. Her lips trembled a little, and my heart melted. "I don't want to hit my elbow!"

"Then I suggest you come down, Princess," I said mildly. "Because Papa has no patience left today."

I heard rustling overhead, and saw her struggling to climb out of the center of the sunken canopy.

"Will you hold my box?" she asked quietly, her hand lowering something to me.

Dominoes, I thought, and opened it quickly to see. Why had she left this here? Had she forgotten it? She had said it was one of the few things she had of her father's. Surely she wouldn't have left this behind.

Charlotte climbed carefully down, her hands wrapping around the pole as she slid down to the mattress. She stood on it and stared at me, holding her hands out in demand for the dominoes box.

"This...this is Eva's," I managed to say, clutching it protectively.

"It's mine!" Charlotte said, narrowing her eyes and jumping on the floor to stomp her feet. "Mine! Mine! _Mine_!"

"No," I said slowly. "She may want this back, and I wouldn't want you to lo...oof! Shit! What the hell...?"

By the time I had managed to realize I was on the floor, I wasn't sure what hurt worse. My leg, or my...my other parts.

Lacey giggled at Charlotte's retreating back, and I looked down to find my hands empty, though honestly through the pain between my legs, and my leg itself, I was not a surprised.

"Are you alright?" Lacey asked, choking on laughter.

"No! I'm not!" I bellowed. I resisted the urge to hold my crotch in the presence of a woman, and merely coughed, certain that would put everything back in order. My...other parts...felt as if they had lodged in my throat. Truthfully, I felt sick.

She knelt beside me and patted my shoulder, blue eyes full of sympathy. But it seemed that really, she wasn't.

"You're an idiot," she stated. "You should never have let Eva leave."

"She could have stayed," I pointed out uselessly.

"You didn't ask," Lacey countered, "did you?"

I rubbed a hand over my face and resisted the urge to shout at her. I didn't need to say words. Not really. I just wanted to yell, and make noise...I wanted to throw a tantrum the way my daughter was doing.

"I don't want to talk about this," I muttered, pushing my feelings back inside. "Shouldn't you be with Charlotte?"

"If she behaves," she said primly. "But I am not going to watch her if she's going to behave like that! You can just get Eva back here right now! I'm not experienced with children. You ought to know that."

"I didn't – "

"Well, you should have!" she ranted. "I've been in an asylum for over a year! And I was married, and before that I was in the schoolroom. I haven't had any experience with children!"

"You should have told me that," I said, feeling nervous. "You seemed to be very good with her before."

"Yes," she agreed. "When she was being nice, and sweet, and hospitable. But if she hurts her own father, what do you think she'd do to me?"

Probably kill you, I thought. It was selfish of me – yet again – but I wished that if Eva _had _planned on leaving, she could have at least waited until I healed. And I could have asked her to stay. And she _might_ have said yes. Especially in that moment inside the library, when she had refused to look me in the eyes. I had known then for the first time what a horrible mistake I had made.

I had known before that I didn't want it to happen, because how _I_ would feel. I didn't want Eva to leave because _I _would feel terrible. Because _I _would miss her. _I _would feel inconvenienced. Hurt. All those other things I felt that I was choosing now to ignore, except for anger.

For the first time it occurred to me how much leaving would hurt her. And yes – Charlotte.

"There's still time for her to be back here before supper," Lacey said quietly. "The carriage returned over half an hour ago."

"It did?"

"Yes. And he'll remember the address. We shou – "

"No," I said hastily, "We will give it time. Eva doesn't want to see me any more than I want to see her."

Lacey snorted and got to her feet. "I don't know which end of you is blowing the most smoke," she muttered, then left me sprawled out on the floor.

Of my lover's bedchamber.

Former lover.

My God, how that hurt.

- -

If Charlotte was ill mannered during the daylight hours, she was worse at dinner. I ate downstairs, since I was halfway there anyway, and Charlotte made those same noises every time someone got too close to her chair. Or spoke to her. Or looked at her.

And Lacey, sitting beside her, was losing her patience. Very fast.

"Unh! _Don't_!"

I swore if I heard it one more time, I would say something. But I didn't. I chewed slower, trying my best not to snarl at her. She was my daughter, and I had lost my temper more times than I cared to admit during the course of the day. And I had been hit with more objects than I cared to remember. Finally I had ordered Madame du Brul to lock every door in the house except her bedroom door, and given Lacey a key to her own bedroom. Then she stored every object within the height of four feet out of her reach, or out of her sight. And still she managed to find things to throw.

"Your dress is touching mine," Charlotte whined.

Lacey's lips flattened, and she glanced at me. "Aren't you going to say anything?" she asked quietly.

"What can I say?"

Her eyes slid to Charlotte's, and I knew there were a number of things she wished me to say to her.

"Don't look at me," Charlotte said crossly. "I don't like you anymore."

"Yeah?" Lacey shot out of her chair, "I don't like you either, you little brat!"

A large portion of carrots flew out of Charlotte's hands, sliding down Lacey's dress. The older girl stared at her for several moments, then lifted a large pitcher full of water and emptied it over my daughter's head.

I rubbed a hand over my mouth, hopefully pulling the smile away from it.

"Lacey. That will be all."

She raised her eyes to mine, horror creeping into them for the first time. "Erik...I'm so sorry..."

"I will speak to you about it later," I said crisply. "Please, give me a moment with Charlotte."

I looked back to Charlotte as Lacey left the room, and she was staring down at her soaked dress, arms akimbo out to her sides. Her startled expression met mine, and I saw her resolve fade. She wasn't being mean, just to be mean. She was hurting, and lashing out. Frightened, because Eva had left. And she had done it just as I asked. Not let my daughter know that I had anything to do with it, and taken the blame all on herself.

"Come here," I whispered, and held out my arms.

"She poured water on me."

"Yes. I'm sorry, Charlotte. It won't happen again," I said softly, still waiting for her to come to me.

"Eva would _never _pour water on me," she informed me haughtily. "She_ loves_ me."

"_I_ love you, Charlotte," I said nervously, hoping I would hear it back.

"_Eva_ loves me. I want to see her," she demanded quietly. "Now."

"I'm afraid...I'm afraid it will be a few more days, Lotte," I said falteringly. "But she doesn't live very far away. She hasn't gone far," I promised. "Won't you please come sit with me?"

"No."

It was an answer I would hear over and over again, and one that would threaten to break what was left of my heart.


	69. Old Friends

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

_Eva_

Our parent's townhouse was not what I expected, exactly. The neighborhood had changed a great deal from when we had lived here. Now there was a tavern only a block away, with a brothel above it, and I noticed that many of the houses next to us appeared to be vacant. Thankfully Victor had not changed the locks on the back door, and my old key fit perfectly.

Once I entered the house though, I was dismayed to find the utter mess inside. It seemed the man never cleaned up after himself, and not once in five years had he thrown anything away. Paper littered the floor, and it started downstairs, continuing upstairs. The bedrooms had been completely ransacked, and I wondered if he had been angry or desperately looking for money.

Erik's gardener helped me straighten two bedrooms, and I watched as he laid Rebbecca down in her old room, satisfaction evident in her eyes that she was home.

"At last," she smiled when he was gone, paying no heed to the broken armoire, or the filthy sheets.

"I'll get the rest of this junk out of here tomorrow," I said tiredly. "I need to go see the solicitor immediately."

"Oh, Eva, let him hang! We can sit up here and talk like we used to. You can read to me, and – "

"I am not in the mood," I said as nicely as I could manage. "Someone has to clean this mess up, and find something for you to eat. I can't even cook! There's no food in this house – never mind the fact that it's freezing, and we have no coal for the fireplaces!"

"I've been living in conditions worse than this," she snapped. "I am _so_ sorry if you don't find our home as comfortable as I!"

"Will you be alright here by yourself?" I asked tightly.

"Fine!" she huffed, crossing her arms. "Leave."

"You sound like Charlotte," I muttered as I left the room.

I was grateful to realize Erik's driver had stayed outside, and he was kind enough to take me to the solicitors and even wait outside for me.

And the elderly, slightly stooped Monsieur Dorléac stared at me assessingly for several moments, then calmly informed me that Victor had claimed my inheritance when I had died in childbirth five years ago.

"Obviously he lied," I said, gritting my teeth.

"You did not claim it on your twenty – first birthday," he said slowly. "Monsieur Clarke came to see us that very day, because of course, you had already died."

"I'm not dead."

"Obviously," he said, frowning. "I'm sorry, Madame Novelli. I knew your father for many, many years. I worked for him, and for Monsieur Clarke's father as well. They were both good men."

"But not Victor," I stated, and he nodded.

"A less pleasant man, there never was," he quipped. "God rest his soul."

"I doubt that, very much."

I realized suddenly that I had nothing. There was no inheritance. I had the money Madame du Brul had been paying me every week, and it was nothing to sneeze at. But I doubted very much that it would last, especially with the repairs that were needed around the house. Rebbecca would need new clothes, and I needed a lot of things that we didn't have anymore. Like plates, glasses, and utensils. Towels, linens, and even a washtub. He had sold it, apparently, for the copper.

I had discovered Victor had broken all of my mother's china, and just about anything else of value in the house. All the jewelry was gone. He had made damned sure I didn't take that with me when I left. I had my parent's wedding rings, but only because she had given them to me before she died.

"Well, Monsieur Dorléac," I said slowly, "what do you suppose we do about this?"

"_We_?" he asked, gaping at me.

"We," I said, nodding readily. "There must be some compromise. After all, it was not my fault that you lost...how much was it...? Twenty five thousand francs? Not to mention what else Victor stole from my sister and I, since you did not discredit the document my mother signed. I have very little of anything of value left from my parent's marriage. Nothing from my childhood. He destroyed it all. He took my sister's inheritance. I...I do still own the house, do I not?" I asked suddenly.

"Actually, it's your sister's house," he said quietly. "Since you were dead..."

"Dammit, I'm not dead!" I shouted, startling him backwards into his chair. "You...you will fix this for me, Monsieur! Fix it! Now!"

His pen tumbled from his fingers and clattered to the desk, and he stared at it for a moment. "Ah...alright, Madame Novelli. I will draft you some money now." He glanced up, "But I cannot just give you twenty five thousand francs...you understand? I will give you something to help...ease...your burden. And then, I will think of some suitable compromise."

"Like what?" I asked suspiciously.

"Can you type?" he asked, not looking up.

"Can I _what_?" I yelped.

"Type," he repeated, then pointed to a large black case. "On a typewriter."

"Well...I've never even seen one," I said slowly. "Wait. You expect me to _work_ for my inheritance? That's absurd! I'd never earn that much money doing something so...so..."

"Boring?" he asked, looking amused. "I'm sorry, Madame. I don't have that sort of money. Victor stole it from you, and for that I'm terribly sorry. But I cannot just take that money out of my pocket. I'm wealthy. But not quite that wealthy."

He tore off a draft and handed it to me. "Eight thousand?" I murmured, then glanced up to him gratefully. "Can you...can you afford this much?" I asked slowly. I didn't want to pauper the man. And this was really my mistake, not his. I should have come back years ago and claimed it. Even if I had done so anonymously, I could have informed someone that I was still alive.

"It's quite alright," he said gently. "Your father sent plenty of business my way. Not to mention the interest I made from his investments, and from your inheritances. And I should have known better than to trust a weasel like Victor Clarke. His father would have been terribly ashamed of him."

He probably would have been ashamed of me too. For running and hiding like a coward. For getting knocked up, and then not marrying the man who had gotten me that way. Sleeping with another man – still unmarried – and possibly getting pregnant again. And for not protecting my sister, and our heritage.

I vowed as I cleaned up the remnants of our home that I would not let another man into our lives. Hopefully I was allowed to see Charlotte soon, and I hoped that Erik would allow her to leave. Hoped that she even wanted to see me, though in my heart I knew that she did. Even though I was not her mother, she was mine in every way that mattered.

- -

In the lonely days that followed I found few things that could remind me of happier days at home. My parents bedroom had been absolutely sabotaged, as well as nearly every other room in the house. I found out that there were unpaid bills, and the grocer and butcher were reluctant to sell me food when they realized who I was. Because Victor had racked up quite a bit of money on the Novelli's line of credit, which I reluctantly paid off, though they still didn't want to do business with me. Even when I offered to pay in advance.

The coal man as well, and the milk man, and...how had I forgotten how many people we dealt with every other week? I had never really paid attention after I had entered the de Chagny's, and I hadn't needed to once I worked for Erik.

I bought what furniture I needed, and repaired what I could, all the while trying to please my sister. Who absolutely could not be pleased, in any way, shape, or form.

Three days a week I went to Monsieur Dorléac's and typed legal papers for him, which I believed to be the most boring thing in the world to do. And I grew to hate typewriters. Very much.

The second Saturday in December, I was throwing out the last of Victor's correspondence when someone knocked on the door. I threw it open, and stared at the man standing across from me – and immediately started weeping.

"Eva?" Raoul asked gently, twisting his hat brim. "Are you..."

"Come in!" I said shrilly, throwing my hands up in the air. "This is the house of disrepair!"

I peered over his shoulder, hoping to see Charlotte.

"She isn't here," he said quietly, taking me by the shoulders and steering me inside. "I just heard what happened. I'm very, very sorry about this, Eva. I had no idea..."

"Don't ask me about it," I said glumly. "I have cried far too many tears. How is Charlotte doing?"

His grim look answered it all. "She is the moodiest little beast I've ever seen. Erik is going to have to replace every window in his house, and there is a library full of books on his front lawn. And the man himself," he glanced down at the floor, "well – "

"I don't want to hear it," I said, lying through my teeth.

"Can you tell me what happened?" he asked slowly. "Erik has been very tight lipped about it."

I shook my head, turning and going to the kitchen. "Would you like a cup of tea?" I offered.

"Please," he said, surprising me when he followed me in and sat down at my rickety table.

"We had nicer things," I explained softly. "Not as nice as yours, obviously. But Rebbecca's husband destroyed everything in here. Most of the furniture went into the fireplace. And he took my inheritance, telling the solicitor I was dead."

"Would you...would you like me to talk to him?" he asked slowly. "I would be more than happy to do so, Eva."

"No," I said quickly. "He reimbursed me for some of the amount. And offered me a job, so I can't really complain. It was my fault, really. And I'm hardly poor...but," I smiled, "I was quite used to the luxury of having maids for the last five years."

"How is your sister?"

"She's a pain in the ass," I said bluntly. "But she is recovering her health. If not her sweet nature."

"Why didn't you come to me? You know you could have stayed on my estate. I would have..."

"A kept woman?" I tsked at him, then watched him flush. "No, I don't think so. And I would not want to be a servant in your house. I hate washing my own sheets. I certainly don't want to wash yours."

"I didn't mean that," he murmured as he accepted his tea. "You could have stayed as a guest. For as long as you liked."

"Monsieur, you are an aristocrat. I was an employee in your house," I reminded him. "It would not have been proper."

Raoul nodded his head a moment, "Yes, but...but we...I..."

He looked utterly ridiculous sitting in my kitchen, dressed exquisitely. More suited to a parlor, or the smoke scented clubs he liked to frequent. And when he glanced up at me, I noticed he really didn't look happy. Despite all the money, and the title, and everything else in his life. He was very unhappy. And very lonely. Just as lonely as I.

"You may come and visit me anytime," I offered warmly. "It's always nice to see old friends...if I may call you that..."

"Yes," he said rather quickly, then frowned. "I mean...as long as Erik wouldn't mind us being friends."

"Erik?" I repeated frostily. "Monsieur, I assure you. Erik doesn't give a damn about what I do. He made that very clear to me."

"Oh, but you're wrong about that," he said, quite clearly. "Erik cares a great deal. I...I hesitate to ask, but did your leaving have anything to do with Monsieur Rougette?"


	70. The Love That Was Never Enough

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

_Erik_

**Backtracking a little...**

My body was healing even if other parts of me weren't. Tending to Charlotte made it necessary for me to come out of hiding, and most of the time I spent chasing after her because it seemed she was determined to make my life pure hell until I agreed to find a way to get Eva to come back to us. Except that wasn't as easy as I thought it might be, because it also seemed that I was a coward as well as a jerk, and I simply didn't want to do it.

Lacey was more than glad to help me...when Charlotte was being nice. And when she wasn't being nice, well, she was being something else entirely. By the eighth day of Eva's absence, I knew that something had to change, and I did the unthinkable. I sent for de Chagny.

And he came to my surprise, albeit reluctantly. Apparantly he was having some sort of personal crisis that required him to spend much of his time at home. Possibly in a bottle, but he looked clear-eyed when he showed up, even if he looked a little sullen.

"Why am I here?" he started with, looking annoyed.

"I'm having a little difficulty with Charlotte," I admitted slowly. "I was wondering how you got her to...behave. Ever."

His brow rose, and somewhere above us I heard glass shatter. "She's throwing things again?" he asked, wincing as a bout of shrieking ensued.

"Obviously."

"Well, Eva should know how to handle this -"

"Eva's gone," I interrupted swiftly. "It's just me now."

"I see."

His eyes turned upwards to the ceiling, and I grimaced as he looked around the room. Madame du Brul could no longer keep up with her messes any longer, and I had done everything short of tying her to a chair to prevent her from making more. I was worried she was going to injure herself around the large amount of glass she had managed to break, or fall from the balcony, or disappear into the woods, and become lost. Or drive me crazy, which was the most pressing matter.

And apparently she had taken to pretending she was asleep when she wasn't again, because I had come upon late night drawings on the marble floors with charcoal, and she would appear the next morning looking quite pleased with herself. But I could see past all her schemes. I could see how much she hurt, and I hurt just as much because she wouldn't let me comfort her. She was angry with me. As if she knew that I was the one who had sent Eva away.

"May I ask why?" he finally asked.

"No. Just tell me how to...to fix her."

"Fix her, Erik?" he drawled, rolling his eyes. "She's a child. Not a broken doll."

He stood up and began pacing, his hands thrown behind his back while I waited patiently for him to tell me how ignorant I was. But I was beyond caring about his disapproval at this point. I was watching my daughter suffer, and it was nearly killing me in the process.

"She did all this?" he asked, looking around the room once more.

"Most of it, yes. I...I broke the door frame," I said, pointing to the wood that had been ripped out of the wall to my parlor. "She stole my keys and locked herself inside."

"No hidden doors?" he questioned mockingly.

"Not in this room," I answered blandly. "I seldom need this room. It seemed a wasted effort."

"Yet you put one in every other room in this house," he muttered softly.

"Can you help me or not?"

"I don't know, Erik. Where is Charlotte now?"

"Upstairs with Lacey. She's trying to get her to dress, though the effort has been pointless for the last two mornings."

He turned and left the room, coming back in less than fifteen minutes with a dressed...and _smiling..._Charlotte. Lacey followed behind them, scowling at all of us. In the loneliness of the last few days, I had discovered something astounding about her. For all her bright, cheerful smiles, and flippant responses to questions of a serious nature, she was still haunted by the ghosts of the last year. At night she didn't sleep in her room.

I had stumbled over her body at the top of the landing one night, nearly sending us both crashing down it together. Amidst shrieks and curses, I had ended up frightening her so badly she had began to cry as I demanded why she had chosen that particular spot to sleep.

Lacey, it seemed, was frightened of beds. And she refused to sleep in a room containing one.

The next day I had removed the bed from her room and replaced it with a couch and some chairs, and as of yet I had not stumbled over any more bodies during the middle of the night. Likely her fear stemmed from the fact that she had been tied to one for the better part of a year, and possibly assualted repeatedly while she was unable to move. She confessed that even sitting beside me on my bed had been difficult. She couldn't breathe, and when she couldn't breathe, she went hysterical.

And she wasn't in the slightest bit embarrassed about her fears, confirming that she was not crazy. She was open, and honest, and I vowed (once again) that she would be safe here, no matter what.

"Well, Charlotte," I said with a twinge of irritation, "it is good to see you this morning. And dressed too."

"Good morning," she said politely, burying her face against Raoul's throat.

"Charlotte, go to the kitchen," Raoul said quietly, setting her down on the floor. "You're going to help Madame du Brul sweep whatever messes you have made. For starters."

"Yes, Papa," she whispered, throwing me a disdainful glance before running from the room.

"_Charlotte_!"

I heard her shuffle outside in the hallway, then a meek face appeared through the door. "Yes?"

"That is no way to exit a room," he said sternly. "You have better manners than that."

Lacey's mouth actually fell open when Charlotte came into the room, turned primly around then left with quiet dignity. I was surprised that mine remained closed, but I only did so to defend myself against the satisfied smirk that de Chagny graced me with. I felt like choking him. Really choking him. I had taken to shouting at the girl, and she didn't so much as blink at me. I could raise the roof on the house, and he simply told her to do something and she did it.

I suppressed a sigh. Clearly my idea of parenting had taken a turn for the worse. I couldn't control my temper any longer, and it was harming Charlotte more than ever now. But she didn't appear to be afraid of me. She had kicked me no less than five times since Eva had left, and nearly managed to jar the mask several times when her arms would begin swinging wildly.

She had even pulled off Lacey's hair - but thankfully not mine.

"How...?"

He smiled a little and sat down, edging the broken frame of a painting away from him with his boot. "Erik, I realize your method of disciplining might not involve physical punishment. Because I couldn't imagine you wanting to spank a child. But some children need it. I needed it as a boy. Almost every day of my life, to be honest, and my father metered out my punishments with a switch. Charlotte has been spanked once in her life for throwing things. And I never needed to do it again."

"I can't..."

"You will if you want her to grow up," he said quietly. "You have to do something. This...," he looked around the room slowly, "is not acceptable. Her tantrums are legendary. And they will only get worse as she grows older. Do you really want a teenaged daughter behaving in this manner? She will run off with the first boy she meets, and you may never see her again. Her fate could tumble right out of your hands if you don't manage her now. Trust me...I married her mother. And Charlotte has Christine's temper."

"Christine never threw anything at me."

"Then you're a lucky man," he said bitterly. "Your relationship was apparently vastly different than mine."

I glanced over to Lacey and gave her a long look, and she quickly left the room. Raoul seemed suddenly tense, and I coudn't help but notice the wariness and anger in his expression. He didn't want to discuss this, I could tell, but since it seemed we were going to be in contact quite often I wanted to ask him something.

"You've hinted..."

"Erik, must we start this now?"

His blue eyes met mine, and I saw a hardening in them that hadn't been there before. Not five years ago anyway. Most definately not when I had tried to kill him. They had been filled with terror then - but he was looking at me now.

"If you please," I said softly. "I would like to discuss it. Just this once."

"Fine. Fine," he replied wearily. "You want the truth about my marriage? It was not perfect. No marriage is. Christine and I did not sail away on a ship of happiness, nor live in a cloud of dreams. Each day was more difficult than the next, and she was not what I expected in a wife. A friend? Perhaps. But not even a good one at that...unless one can count childhood friends. Which is how I would describe our relationship until she died. She was a childhood friend. We loved each other...but not the way you loved each other."

"She did not feel for me the way that I did for her," I said slowly. "She was not happy with me."

He stared at me, his disbelief evident, and I couldn't tell who was more reluctant to admit the truth. I certainly didn't want to tell him the...intimate details of my one night with her. But he had just admitted there was a lack of passion between them. A bond. An unbreakable bond, of love and friendship. It was still more than I would ever have, and I was still jealous of him for having that with her. She had loved him enough to stay. And cared for me just enough to toss me a scrap of affection, then leaving me longing for the rest of the meal.

"I saw you on stage together."

"That is not...," I cleared my throat, failing to see his point. She had been acting. Playing to the crowd. To me, yes, but it hadn't been genuine. Perhaps she had been playing him as well. "It was not indicative of our relationship. She was performing. And she was brilliant at it. But that was not what our...encounter...was like."

Raoul began to seethe in his chair, likely ready to strangle me now. It seemed that even though there marriage was not what he had wanted - he had wanted it very much to be that way. And for what purpose I didn't know, but maybe it was the same purpose that I wanted her to be here for Charlotte. With me. Maybe there was still a competitive edge between us...maybe I didn't want to let her go because I thought it would make my love for her less tragic and more pathetic. Maybe because I wanted him to think I would pine for her forever...even longer than him. Because I deserved her more. Because I wanted her more.

Even with the connection between Christine and I (and I would admit that it was only Charlotte herself; there was nothing else), we were not linked forever as I might like to think. We were connected through our daughter, and only that. They were connected through their marriage, their son, and little else except whatever happy moments they had struggled to save.

And I was still standing in his way. I was fighting a man for the memory of his wife. Fighting for her love, even after death. And I didn't feel any better now about her love than I had five years ago.

"Then...?"

He hesitated to ask such a highly personal question. But she had been his wife. And her actions had driven him into such a frenzy...I should know. I'd been worrying about the same thing for years. That she liked him better. That she loved him more. Apparently she hadn't really been in love with either one of us. Not in the way we both had wanted her love. Maybe she had not been capable of finding passion with a man. Perhaps she only found it onstage...never in her heart.

"Are you sure you want to hear this?" He nodded, and I sighed. "Very well. She always knew how to contact me. Even after I left the theater...there were ways I could leave her a message. Or she could leave me one. A place in the theater. It was how I found out about Charlotte. And before that...she said that she would meet me there one night. To...well, I really didn't know why, but I was there when she said to be." I had checked that lockbox inside the wall of the theater every day after she left again. And it had very gradually tapered to every other day, until finally once a month. I even felt the urge now, after all this time to look once more. Or maybe again after that. The woman had been in my heart and on my mind for so long, I wasn't sure if I could ever be rid of her completely. Raoul was looking away now, possibly remembering a night of betrayal that had cut just as deeply as mine. If not more. "She never really stopped crying. Before, during, and afterwards," I said flatly. "That was our grand passion. Her pity for me, and my love for her. That was it."

"And Eva?" he asked suddenly.

I sat up straighter, my eyes narrowing. "What does she have to do with this?"

"Probably nothing," he muttered. "Forget I asked."

"Did you...mention your visitor to her?" I asked softly.

He shook his head, and my guilt climbed up another notch. She had truly left because of me. I had - in her eyes - forcibly removed her from my home. For no reason other than my foolishness with that letter. If only I had known so many things...I never would have come up with that worthless ruse.

"I'll stop and talk to Charlotte on my way out," he said quietly. "And then I'm going to see Eva. Is there anything you would like me to say to her?"

"No," I blurted out before I could stop.

He raised his brow, shaking his head again. "Then you're a bigger fool than I thought. Because I know that woman would have given you more than Christine ever did."

--

Let me know about any errors. I typed this in doc. manager at work


	71. A Sister's Secret

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

_Eva_

"Rougette?" I echoed dumbly. "Where did you hear that name?"

"Erik didn't tell you," he murmured, then cursed softly. "That's what I thought."

He raked a hand through his hair and looked at me, but I was far too shocked to say anything. Erik didn't tell me what? That he told Raoul about Zachary? I had kept it secret so long...but really there had just never been anyone I wanted to tell. Christine had known his first name. Not his last. And I didn't think Raoul had ever had a conversation with Rebbecca: the only other person who knew about what I had done, and with whom.

"Monsieur Rougette paid me a visit, Eva. Almost two weeks ago. Erik said he wouldn't keep it from you..."

"We were fighting," I whispered weakly, suddenly feeling my heart begin to pound. "How did he know...? What did he want?"

"Somehow after your brother in law died he found out you were working for me. He was trying to find you," Raoul said slowly. "Eva...are you alright? You look a little pale."

And I felt a little sick. A lot sick. I had never wanted to see Zachary after I had left the hospital. I had sent a letter to him telling him our precious daughter had died, and that I was going away forever. Not to ever look for me. To forget about me, and I would try to do the same.

I couldn't even begin to define what I felt now. Oddly, a strong compulsion to see his strong face, and cry on his enormous shoulder. He may not have been the man of my dreams, but he'd certainly been something to me. To that innocent girl I had been, anyway.

"Eva?"

Raoul was staring at me with an uneasy expression on his face. "I didn't tell Zachary where you were. I was going to let you decide."

"So you told Erik instead?" I asked tonelessly. "And he...well God only knows what that man thought. Is thinking now..."

His hand covered mine, and I smiled despite the tears swimming in my vision. Raoul had always been a gentleman. Concerned with the feelings of others, often well above his own. Not just with women. With men. With children. Even with Erik, who he probably often found it hard to like.

"This Rougette fellow," he began hesitantly. "He won't hurt you, will he?"

"Oh, no," I replied, chuckling a little. "He's a bit rough around the edges, to be sure. But he's got the heart of a lamb. The wolf only comes out in the ring."

"Well, I saw his fangs the other day," he said quietly. "He's very interested in finding you."

I sniffled; felt my chin wobble. "He should have moved on by now. Our...our daughter is gone. There is nothing left between us. I don't think I can bear for him to see me."

"Do you love him?" he questioned, his eyes clouded with a sudden uncertainty.

Was he asking for Erik? My heart beat hard in hope. Then crashed with a sudden remembrance of all that had happened between us. Lovers on Tuesday, and hating each other by Friday. Our relationship had crashed before it even started.

And I had started my monthly cycle two days previous, right on schedule. I couldn't have felt more heartbroken if he had written me another nasty letter.

"No...well...it's...it's complicated," I stammered impatiently. "I never_ loved_ him. Not...not in any conventional sense. And he didn't love me. But we had something. We were...comfortable. He made me feel safe, and I...I guess I gave him what every man needs."

Raoul pulled back at my blunt words, a flush stealing across his cheeks. For a man...a formerly married man...he was one of the most modest men I had ever encountered.

"I told Erik he was an idiot for letting you leave," he told me, then smiled.

"Oh." He looked expectant, so I asked curiously, "And what did he say?"

"He said, 'I know'."

- -

I penned Charlotte a note that Raoul promised to deliver, and I practically floated on a cloud the rest of the day. Even Rebbecca lightened at my infectious mood, though I didn't tell her it was in response to something Raoul had told me about Erik.

I was still angry with him. Very. His words were hurtful, and not easily discarded. But he had apologized, even if I never accepted it. And the letter had been written before everything that had taken place between us. It's contents explained his refusal to say what he had made me promise. Why he hadn't wanted me to go into the library. Why he had stopped us before we made love...and I had brushed past his protests because I hadn't _wanted_ to know. I had wanted to make love to him, and in that sweet, erotic moment I hadn't cared. He tried to tell me, and I stopped him.

My involvement in my own heartache increased, because I had cast away responsibility. I had hadn't merely ignored warning bells in my head. I hadn't heard the damn things, if they were even present.

And I might have still been hurt and angry with him...but dammit...I missed him. His sly, sarcastic humor. The looks he gave me when he thought I wasn't paying attention. The way he comforted me while I cried. Held me while I slept. Kissed me.

I had barely glimpsed what life could be like with him...what I hoped it could be like. And I wanted more. Even through my anger I realized I still loved him. Still loved him, because he was truly the first man I ever loved. Not Zachary, though we had been close. He just hadn't made me feel as strongly as I did for Erik. I didn't think there was another man who could captivate me the way he had.

Even before he'd been injured I had been charmed by him. Enthralled by his dry humor. His mocking habits, and the way his eyes looked behind that black mask, though I truthfully preferred him without it. He was a different person when he was without it. Vulnerable - finally letting people see beneath his thick shield.

I only hoped I hadn't hurt him so badly that he never let it down again. Even if I never had the chance to tell him how I felt.

Not that I would be finding the courage to do so anytime soon.

- -

"You've been acting strangely all day," Rebbecca commented, standing on unsteady legs near the window. "Did you find a bag of money?"

"No," I said dreamily, folding a blanket I had washed earlier that day.

"Then what?" she asked suspiciously. "Ever since that Vicomte left, you've been acting weird. I hope you aren't considering starting a relationship with him. Or restarting one."

"Rebbecca, don't," I warned, snapping the ends of together and placing it in the linen closet. "If you ever...ever insinuate something like that about me again, I'll..."

"Abandon me?" she asked quickly.

"No," I whispered, cursing her ability to make me feel instant guilt. "I would never do that."

She snorted. "You were going to."

"No, Rebbecca. I was never going to abandon you," I said firmly. "You're my sister. How could you think that?"

She moved slowly towards a chair and sat down, rubbing her thin arms with her small hands. "Don't lie to me. Don't...just don't, Eva. You made sure I knew whose house this was. That it was_ your_ inheritance that would be claimed. _Not mine_. I don't even have Victor's house to sell. I have nothing."

"The house is in your name," I reminded her. "Victor apparently couldn't sell this one while you were living. And I have no inheritance. _Not_ that I was ever going to abandon you. Because I wasn't."

Her nostrils flared, and she played with the ends of her wig. "Right. Just like you weren't dallying with your _employers_. With that...that man..."

"Once again I will remind you that it was not your business," I said sharply. "And I have never...ever done anything inappropriate with Monsieur de Chagny. His _wife_ just died! He isn't even thinking about other women right now. And he never thought about me like that!"

"What's under that mask, anyway?" she asked baldly.

Air whooshed from my lungs, and I felt the same blow that Erik must have felt a thousand times. When Christine had taken it from him. When he'd been beaten in Bicetre. Beaten and unmasked outside of Salpetriere. When I had hurt him, possibly so much he might never forgive me.

"He saved your life," I said, my voice low with anger. "The only reason you are angry with him is because of his relationship with me. Which started well before you came along, though I admit it escalated after he was injured. Don't ever try and cut him down because of his appearance. Right now you're no prize yourself."

She made a strangled sound and looked away, my words hitting far too close to her heart. She had always been a little vain about her looks. She'd had every right to be, because she'd been beautiful, and delicate. Dainty. And she used to cry. A lot.

I noticed now that she never did, and it only confirmed that I knew she was buried under hurt and anger. And I feared I was not patient enough to ever pull her out.

"Rebbecca, I'm sorry."

"Right," she spat. "Just go back to your demon lover then. I'll be fine here by myself."

"I'm not leaving you. And I really am sorry. You know I was never one to take insults well. And Erik is...or was...my friend. More than that, actually."

She turned and gave me a strange look. "You never said why we left so quickly."

"It's personal."

"I'm your sister. You're supposed to tell me everything," she said, pouting a little.

"Not everything. And especially not this," I muttered.

"Did you fight?" she asked cattily. "Over me?"

"It had nothing to do with you. It was something else entirely."

Rebbecca looked oddly disappointed, and resumed playing with her hair. She must have thought I'd honored her wishes to leave Erik's employment or something.

How relieved she would be if she ever knew that Erik had been the sole cause of why I had left. Even if I hadn't stayed for him, I would have done so for Charlotte.

If, of course, he hadn't asked when I was leaving.


	72. Pretty Dresses

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

_Erik_

In the absence of Charlotte's violent temper, and in the face of Eva's invitation to her for tea the next afternoon, I found my own anxiety increased. Now I had plenty of time to think about Eva. Time to regret how I had handled her last night in my home. How I had ruined all hope of her ever forgiving me. The woman hadn't even been able to look me in the eyes when she left, I had dealt her such a bone deep hurt. And she had given me equal hurt in return.

So when Raoul had handed me the invitation, I had simply told Charlotte that she was going. And she had given me such a beaming smile my heart had lifted, though I felt a little irritation at that devilish look in her eyes. She had gotten her way. If I had been a better father (or just perhaps a stricter one) I would have used that note to keep her in line. A promise to behave, and she would be allowed to go. Or maybe I simply would have asked for a hug and a kiss, hoping she would forgive me for whatever I had done. Because she didn't know why Eva had left. Which meant she was just angry at me for whatever reason. Maybe she didn't like me. I shuddered at the thought of my own daughter hating me, and vowed I would try harder to make her happy.

I would not, however, go to tea. No one had asked me to go, of course. Not Charlotte. Certainly not Eva. I would let Charlotte go with Lacey while I stayed here and moped around. Sat at my piano with my hurting right arm and fidgety left one, unable to play. Walked slowly around my devastated home with my cane, feeling the cold loneliness of all my future years. In the days since she had left, I hadn't eaten much. I'd barely slept, and in the evenings I contemplated drinking far too much, and occasionally did so. Charlotte had thrown Eva's dominoes box down from the balcony into the main hall (aiming for my head, I was almost certain), and it had smashed to little bits. The tiles were chipped and broken, and I had gathered them up myself with a heavy heart. Throbbing so erratically inside my chest I thought I might cry - and it had been the only time Charlotte had apologized to me for anything she had broken. And it hadn't even been mine.

One order from Raoul and the little wicked girl I had been trying to control was chasing after Madame du Brul, toting a dust pan while Madame swept bits of broken pottery and other things into a pile. She had helped right the lower half of the house before I had given her permission to play, and I had felt guilty when she hadn't even done that - the poor girl had fallen fast asleep. Lacey said I was being absurdly easy on her, but I simply couldn't see punishing my daughter for something I knew that I had done. I was the cause of her grief. The loss of a woman who I realized suddenly was more important to her than her mother. Who was even more important to me than Christine. Charlotte hadn't acted this way when Christine had died. Not once. And I had sent off the only woman who could comfort her, and surrounded her by strangers in a strange house. Even I was still a stranger to her, despite the closeness I had felt with her. I had never realized children were fickle creatures. Never realized what security meant to a child.

And I had ripped hers away from her, only offering myself. Which still was not enough for her. Perhaps it would never be.

That thought frightened me more than any of the others.

- -

"May I come in?" I asked politely, knocking on the door to Charlotte's room.

I had been ordered from it enough times in the past few days that permission had begun to seem the required admission ticket. Not that it always worked with Charlotte.

She was sitting at her window seat, tracing a hand absently over the window pane, creating little pictures of frost people against the cold, damp glass.

"Yes," she said, not looking back at me.

I stopped a few feet away from her, uncertain and unsure. Perhaps I should have gone back inside the walls. It would have been so much easier if I had stayed away from all of them from the beginning. None of this would have happened. Then I would be able to sleep without dreaming of _her_. Wake with more peaceful thoughts than my own. Live without the guilt of knowing the pain I had caused the two people I cared about most. How had I ever thought I could seperate them? Why hadn't I simply told Eva that I didn't want her to leave? That I was tired of being alone...And that I wanted her to stay because I loved her...

The least I could do for her was take away the blame she had placed upon herself. To tell Charlotte the truth - even if it meant making her angry with me. I wanted her to be happy. I wanted Eva to be happy. It seemed the only way to do that was to let them be together - even if it excluded me.

"I want to tell you something, Charlotte."

One of her cats jumped into her lap, and she grabbed it around it's waist and lifted it against her chest. I noticed that whenever she did that, her eyes grew puffy and she sneezed. The same reaction I had to cats. I hoped I had passed on more than my allergy to felines to my daughter. Hopefully a small, meager amount of my temper had managed to slip by her. For all my yelling and cursing...in truth I have always been a patient man.

I just simply have never had anything come easy to me. And I would rather order something to be done than beg.

"Are you alright?" she asked, looking up at me.

I was standing far away from her, with my stomach churning and hands shaking. Her behavior the last few days had terrified me. I'd never seen (and hoped to never again see) a child behave so badly. My own child. And she had taken almost every ounce of her frustration out on me. Her loving and doting father. The man who would do anything for her. Even tell a truth so hard to tell that it hurt.

"I'm fine," I said stiffly. "I wish to tell you something. About Eva."

"What is it?" she asked quickly, panic lacing her expression. "Did you change your mind? You won't let me go...will you...?"

"That isn't it," I said reassuringly, wishing I had the courage to go with her. "You're still going tomorrow."

She relaxed and sank back against the window sill, absently petting her cat. "Then what?"

"Eva didn't want to leave," I said quietly. "I...I made her leave."

"Why?" she whispered, her eyes growing larger.

"I was mad at her. She was mad at me," I answered vaguely, hoping to quell any questions before they started. She would never understand the entire story. I didn't understand it myself.

"Oh. Well, when is she coming back?"

Charlotte's question didn't necessarily surprise me, but I couldn't think of a more inelegant response. "I don't know if she will, Charlotte. Her sister really is sick. And Rebbecca didn't want to live here. But if you want her to come back..." I sent up a prayer that she could arrange it, "...then she may come back if she wants to."

Her silence terrified me, but I moved closer until I was sitting beside her on the window seat. The gray cat gave me a disgruntled look and jumped down, going to rest in the center of her bed. I swallowed hard and tried to touch her. So certain I would hear that dreaded, 'Unh!' sound, that when it didn't come I breathed a sigh of relief. She let me take her by the arm and pull her against my chest, and her arms wrapped around my back. A feeling I had thought never to feel again.

"I'm sorry for everything. For yelling at you. For...for everything," I whispered when I felt my shirt begin to dampen. Her little body shook, and her arms tightened around me. I heard her murmuring something, but couldn't make it out. "What is it, Charlotte?" I asked, tilting her face back. Her eyes were red and swollen, her nose running from trying to hold back tears.

I reached into a pocket and gave her my handkerchief, watching as she noisily blew her nose. Then dried her eyes. I didn't say anything, but smiled grimly as I tucked it back into my pocket.

"I said I'm sorry too," she murmured, looking down at her hands. "I didn't mean to break all your things."

Didn't mean to? I thought. As if she had thrown everything by accident?

"Your..._Papa Raoul_ thinks I ought to spank you."

Her eyes widened, but she didn't look up. "He spanked me once. It _hurt_."

"Why...?"

"I hit him with a book," she said, glancing up at me quickly. "It hit his nose."

I placed a hand over my mouth, to cover the smile. "Ah." And she had hit me with several books...and not been punished for it. "I really don't _want_ to spank you, Charlotte."

"You don't?" she questioned, giving me an innocent smile.

"No. I don't. But I have been giving it due consideration. I think perhaps it might be a suitable punishment for future tantrums."

"What?" she asked, wrinkling her brow in confusion.

I sighed, forgetting for a moment that she wasn't but five. "I said I might, if you ever throw anything again."

"Oh," she replied, then glanced back down at her hands. "I don't want to be spanked again."

"Then don't throw anything, Charlotte. I'm sorry that Eva isn't here anymore." I touched her chin, finding her expression close to crumbling again. "I'll let you visit her if she doesn't return. Often. And we may see if she will still be your governess. Perhaps she can do so from her home."

Her breaths drew a little sharper, and she pulled her face away. "No, Papa. I _love _her. I want her to stay with me."

"I'm sorry," I repeated helplessly. "I can't do anything."

She made a little sound, telling me her temper was flaring. "I want Eva! For...for Christmas!"

_"What?"_

"I can't have a walrus for Christmas, so I want Eva!" she said, her voice strong and firm. Her eyes flashing and absolutely full of wickedness. "She's...she's mine!"

'Mine', I thought. She had been hers since birth.

"What do you remember most about your mother?" I asked suddenly.

It was her turn to look baffled. "Why...why she smelled nice, and she was very pretty," she said softly. "And she had pretty dresses."

Pretty dresses. Eva had given her everything. Christine had given her pretty dresses.


	73. The Street Below

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

_Eva_

The letter from Erik was brief. Terse. He invited me to come back to the house, and resume my position as Charlotte's governess. Nothing personal was hinted at. It could have been a letter to a stranger. Or to a woman he didn't know what to say to.

And Madame du Brul raised a brow when I tucked it into my dress, and knelt next to a bouncing little Charlotte.

"My Lotte," I murmured, pulling her into my arms before she ran away. She was extremely hyper, fairly ricocheting off my walls. I needn't have invited her for tea. I should have just offered to let her tear my house apart. I listened to doors slam overhead as she nosily investigated every room. Even Rebbecca's.

And my sister glared at Charlotte when she came back downstairs, running straight back into my arms.

"Eva!" she cried, "Are you coming back with us? Are you? _Are you_?"

"Lotte, settle down," I said sternly.

"Yes, Eva," she said, but her voice dictated how she would behave. She clung to my skirts, barely saying anything during tea, and I couldn't seem to get her to speak to me much. She would bury her face against my side and sigh, or shoot a disrespectful glance at Rebbecca, who shot her one back.

"Charlotte, why don't you stay here for a moment? Madame du Brul is going to help me fix something for your lunch," I said lightly, trying to set her away from me. "You may keep Rebbecca company."

Neither one of them looked particularly pleased with the arrangement, but I took Madame du Brul by the arm and hustled her into my kitchen. She looked over her shoulder one last time at Charlotte before I yanked her inside.

"She's behaving oddly," I said, worried about her. "I've never seen her unwilling to talk to _me_."

"Madame, this is the best I have seen her since you left. Except for when Monsieur de Chagny visited," she informed me, and I noticed more strain around her eyes than normal. "She's destroyed that beautiful house. There are no paintings left on the walls. He took them down after she ruined about half a dozen. Everything that was made of glass has been broken. She even...she even broke your domino set. Monsieur Chartraine was very upset about that."

"He was?" I whispered, though my heart sank a little at the news. The ungrateful child had destroyed one of the last things of my parent's. I didn't have much left of him after Victor had gone through the house. A few books, the family Bible, and two or three plates from their wedding set. "I...I can't believe he didn't take her down a notch."

"Oh, he yelled at her. But she yelled more," Madame du Brul sighed. "I don't think it's in his heart to strike her. I've never seen him so discomposed before. She's kicked him; threw things at him. And he just stares at her."

I rubbed my eyes, weary and feeling sorry for them both. For Charlotte, who didn't understand, and for Erik, who didn't know any better. "Well, it is hard to call Charlotte's bluff," I admitted. "But once you have it, she generally minds. It has taken my supreme patience this last year to handle her. And I know I've been too lenient on her...but I remember how I felt when my mother died. I can't punish her for - "

"Oh, for heaven's sakes! She's just spoiled," Madame said, scowling. "My mother would have held my head under in a tub of water for doing half of what she's done."

"That's terrible! Don't ever think of doing that to Lotte!"

"Did I say I would?" she demanded. "I never had children. And I've certainly never seen one as badly behaved as this one. But the little witch is trying my patience!"

I frowned at her, not liking her tone. "Madame..."

"I apologize. She has been pleasant the last two days," she said, shaking her head. "I wish I could say the same about her father."

"Erik?"

"You have to come back, Madame Novelli," she said insistently. "Charlotte needs you. Monsieur Chartraine needs you..."

She trailed off as I shook my head. I couldn't say what I felt after moving home. I had proven to myself that I could make it on my own. Without the shelter of an employer around me...it was a wonderful feeling, though I did worry about having an escaped mental patient in my home. If the gendarmes found out I was harboring a fugitive, I could get into trouble, but Rebbecca would absolutely refuse to return, and there was Monsieur Dorleac to consider. He would expect me to come in tomorrow and type for him. Besides, he might retract his offer of restoring my inheritance if I stopped working for him. And a good portion of it had already been spent.

"I don't know yet. I need to think about it," I said quietly. "I've...I've already found employment. I don't know if I should leave."

She groaned as we both heard Charlotte screech, followed by Rebbeca shouting. We made it to the parlor just in time for Rebbecca to storm past us and up the stairs, a thunderous expression on her face.

"What is going on?"

Charlotte almost knocked me over, throwing her arms around my waist. "She hit me!" she wailed, looking up at me with tears running down her face. A large red mark was on her left cheek, and I felt anger spike through me.

"Rebbecca_ hit_ you?" I demanded. She nodded her head, brushing the back of her hands over her eyes. I gathered her close and prayed for patience. Whatever demons my sister had, she was going to be sorry for exorcising them on Charlotte. This child was going through enough without my sister adding to her worries. And to abuse her...for any reason was intolerable. Our parents had never hit our faces. My father had called it the ultimate sign of disrespect. To hit someone's face, or spit upon them...you might as well have told them they were worthless. "I'm sorry, Lotte. It _won't_ happen again."

She made a disgruntled sound, "I don't like her! And I don't like Lacey neither!"

I wondered what Lacey had done to her - if anything. The girl had always had a tendency towards violence. Throwing things. Stomping her feet. Kicking, biting, pulling hair. Raoul had put a stop to it once, and so far had never needed to do so again. She had always minded him, whereas sometimes she could look at me and I knew I was wasting my breath. Even if she had thrown something at Rebbecca, it was not excuse enough to hit her.

"Come...h-home with me," she pleaded between sobs. "Eva, please. I miss you."

My heart couldn't have grown any more torn. My sister needed me, and now I knew with certainty she would not go back to Erik's. I couldn't leave her here, because I feared that she might fall and be unable to get up. Or worse - Salpetriere could come looking for her. Even if we became estranged, I had to at least know she was safe.

"I want to, Lotte. I really do," I whispered sadly, sitting down so I could face her. "But I can't."

Her face broke, and she looked away from me as she cried. I closed my eyes as my own threatened, trying not to hurt her when I squeezed tight.

"Lotte, I'm going to send a note home to your Papa. Maybe he'll...well...we shall see if he will let you visit me this week. And I will be more than happy to start teaching you again, though I can't do it every day." She wouldn't look at me, and I merely held her for several moments until her sniffles had stopped, and her breathing was even against my chest. She had worn herself out, and was nearly asleep when I laid her down onto the sofa. "Charlotte, I want you to behave for your Papa until I see you again. No throwing things. Don't be mean, and don't break things. Or I won't allow you to visit me."

She sat up quickly, her mouth parting in shock. "You won't?"

"No, I won't. You must be nice to your father, because he loves you very...very much," I whispered, stroking her hair. "And I will see you in a few days - provided you have behaved yourself."

"He said you were mad at him," she mumbled.

"Did he?" I asked softly, and she nodded. "What...," I cleared my throat, wondering where Madame du Brul was exactly. I didn't need her hearing me pry information out of his daughter. "What else did he say?"

"That he made you leave, but you could come back if you wanted to."

"I do want to," I said gently, wondering if I was missed or not. "I just can't."

She frowned, and started to pout again. I sighed, going in search of a pen and some paper.

- -

"She started it." Was Rebbecca's excuse for hitting Charlotte.

And my response was, "How old are you?"

I sounded like my mother, and she still sounded like herself at the age of seven. She had been a pretty, sweet natured girl. Prettier than me, but not spoiled like Charlotte or so many other girls that's beauty was placed before anything else. She had been the one to drag home stray cats, and feed starving dogs. To rescue fallen bird's nests, and follow around my father's colleagues that were biologists or zoologists. She had been an animal lover, a girl who was sweet and kind, who never, ever raised her voice. Or talked back. She had certainly never hit anyone.

"Why did you hit her?" I demanded, my patience down to the last thread.

She crossed her arms and looked sullen, staring out the window. "She's a little brat. She got what she deserved."

"Rebbecca, you had no right to even touch her. You can't just go through life slapping children. That's abuse."

"Oh, would you like to hear about _abuse_?" she questioned acidly. "Would you really, Eva?"

"Yes! If it will help me understand you better, then I think I ought to hear it!"

"No," she whispered, quickly shaking her head. "No...no."

Her hands curled into fists, and she shrank back from me when I reached for her. I took her hand in mine, feeling an enormous urge to cry. "What happened to you?"

"I think you know," she said, sneering at me. "Oh, Eva you cannot be so unworldly. Use your imagination. What do guards do whenever they are bored? What do husbands do when they hate their wives? And doctors, who are curious? I can't begin to tell you. I can't say that vile name, or speak of those ugly things. Don't be stupid. You know very well what happened to me."

"I'm sorry," I said, choking. I studied the changing palette of her skin. Yellow was fading into pink, yet sick, ghastly white remained. She still looked terrible. Some of her back teeth had come out, and she'd had terrible stomach upsets. I feared she had contracted some sort of parasite that was eating away at her inside, or that she might never regain all of the weight. "I want you to heal, Rebbecca. Inside, and out. I can't help you if you continue to be angry with me. Or hurt the people I love."

She turned away from me, immediately pulling back when I mentioned loving someone else.

"I love you too, Rebbecca. You ought to know I can love more than one person at a time."

I realized suddenly that it was jealousy she was feeling. Where it stemmed from, I wasn't sure. I didn't think she was merely jealous of _them_. I thought she might be jealous of_ me_. I had a beautiful child that I wanted to call my daughter. I had...well...I'd had Erik. I didn't have him any longer, but I believed that I could have kept him forever if only he'd wanted me. But Rebbecca had been locked away since she had been a young girl. I had been free. She had gone from the beautiful, pretty girl to something else. Something I pitied, but still loved. She had become a stray herself, though I was her sister and I wanted her to stay with me. She was family. The only family I had left.

"You don't realize this, because you didn't know Erik, but he would have kept you safe forever. No one would have found you inside his home. No one even knows he exists, and that's the way he wants it." She turned to look at me, studying me without expression. "I didn't want to frighten you, but the hospital could come here looking for you."

"No," she whispered, her lips bloodless and gray.

"I think your unworldly sister might have some knowledge of how the things work. Erik would still take us back. I doubt things would go back to the way they were," I said, studying my hands. "I'm not sure things would ever work between Erik and I - "

"Why?" she asked swiftly. "Because of his mask?"

"No." I frowned at her. "Because he wanted me to leave. And perhaps it is for the best that we stay here. But I wanted you to know that Erik is a good man, despite other things between us. He would have kept you safe. Me safe. Charlotte. Anyone who needed it. He's like you used to be. I think he would feed any stray that came around, or healed any dog that's paw had been hurt. It isn't in him to be cruel...not deliberately cruel. I do love him. I love Charlotte. I'm even fond of Raoul de Chagny, and Lacey. And I love you, Rebbecca. You are my sister. I never stopped loving you."

If I expected a remarkable change in her from my heartfelt confession, I was disappointed. Somewhere in my ramblings I had gotten off course, but she didn't seem to even acknowledge my speech. She turned back to the window with a little sigh, and stared down at the street below.


	74. The Ugliest Plant

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

_Erik_

We started this odd little correspondence, going back the first day Charlotte had returned from Eva's with a hand print on her cheek. Eva had written that she was sorry about Rebbecca hitting her, and that it would never happen again. That they would not be allowed alone together again, and to please forgive them both for what had happened. I highly doubted Rebbecca was sorry, and if she laid a hand on my daughter again she would regret it, though I didn't mention it in my response. Eva had continued to explain that she had taken a job at her father's old solicitor's, trying to restore part of her stolen inheritance.

_...I hope it doesn't inconvenience you to lose a governess so quickly. I hope that Lacey can fill in where I left off. Please excuse the behavior of my sister. She is still greatly distraught..._

And I sent her a note back the next time Charlotte went to see her, cautious and uncertain about what to say. A dozen drafts went into each letter I sent her. Mostly discarded because I sounded sappy, rude, obstinate, or just incredibly stupid. Some even ended with me proclaiming my undying love for her. Those were immediately tossed into the fire. The last thing I needed was a rough draft being placed into her hands, finalizing my humiliation. I kept the letters brief and polite. Always starting with that I hoped she and her sister were doing well.

_...How is Rebbecca? I hope that you are adjusting to your old home, and that your burden is not too great..._

_...Rebbecca is difficult. The house is not the same. Thank you for asking..._

That I would welcome her return to her position as Charlotte's governess, and that she could do so from her residence if it pleased her. Or that she could simply visit with my daughter any time she liked. At her residence, or at mine. Over the next week several letters were written, both of us polite and kind. Nothing was mentioned about our past, or a future, other than she had declined to return to my home, but accepted the position of governess on the days she wasn't working for the solicitor. She certainly didn't mention her neighbor Zachary Rougette, or why she had taken a job with a man who had lost all her money.

_...Lacey does not have the experience necessary to deal with Charlotte. Perhaps with any child. I hope that I can count on you to resume your duties..._

_...I will be happy to continue teaching Charlotte from my home. Monsieur Dorléac is unable to see properly anymore, and I would hate to leave when he has just grown used to my work. He is allowing me to work toward my lost inheritance, though I would never earn that amount in this lifetime. Or the next..._

I then offered to simply give her the amount of her inheritance, but she didn't respond directly to that part of my letter. She simply said that Monsieur Dorléac was an elderly man whose eyesight had begun to fail, and he had appreciated her help in his office, even if she found it boring. He had begun to allow her to work from home, stopping by each evening and dropping off documents for her to type with a borrowed typewriter, which she was teaching Charlotte to use when she had time. Our letters, following those days, turned a little more personal.

_...Rebbecca has been absurdly difficult to deal with, and I fear I may never reach her. I fear that the gendarmes will beat down my door and take her, but she will never leave this house unless by force. I cannot sleep at night, worrying about her constantly..._

_...I hope that you will reconsider coming back here where you will both be safe. I can work something out with Rebbecca so that she wouldn't have to see anyone, if she didn't wish it. The thought of either of you going inside that hospital makes me ill with worry. Give Rebbecca time. She has suffered a great deal..._

With Christmas approaching, I had no idea what to do about it. Having never celebrated Christmas before, I didn't have any idea what it required. I sent Madame du Brul into town for gifts that I had selected from Le Bon Marché's catalog, which I had become quite familiar with over the years. Lacey had refused to go. She, in fact, refused to leave my estate for any reason at all. It didn't bother me, though I had hoped she could find happiness as Charlotte's chaperon. It seemed maybe that might not work out after all.

Charlotte's requested Christmas gift had reverberated in my mind. I simply didn't know what to do about her. Of course I would give Eva to her if I could. Actually, I would rather her be a Christmas present to myself, though I doubted Saint Nick thought I had been good. He'd never seen fit to visit me before, so I seriously doubted I would see him this year. It seemed I lived these days for the return of my daughter from Eva's. I was ashamed to admit that her bright smile was not the only thing I felt relief to see. Madame du Brul handed me my letters with a surprisingly straight face – and no doubt laughed behind my back when I tore it open like an eager schoolboy.

Three days before Christmas Eva sent a letter telling me that Charlotte had thrown a tantrum of enormous proportions because she had finished decorating her home with Christmas items, and Charlotte was upset that I had none. I was dumbfounded. Christmas decorations? What did one use to decorate a house with? The German cook was slightly appalled when she informed me that people in _her_ country used _trees_ to decorate with. I had thought only the idiots in the theater did that, cutting down perfectly good trees and putting them on display in the lobby.

I wasn't aware people actually put them in their homes.

Reading the last part of the paragraph, I breathed a sigh of relief and terror all at once.

_...I hope you and Charlotte will consider spending Christmas with Rebbecca and I. I invited Monsieur de Chagny and Lacey as well. It will be nice to have family and friends around for the holidays, and the house has already been decorated..._

At the end she signed it,_ 'I miss you, Erik. Love, Eva.'_

Those words were the ending of my sorrow, and the beginning of Madame du Brul's. Three days before Christmas she was forced to go back to Le Bon Marche's. I had a feeling after the holidays she would quit.

- -

"We're really going to Eva's?" Lacey asked me carefully.

"Yes," I answered, unable to stop a foolish smile. "Really."

She had signed it, _'I miss you, Erik. Love, Eva'._ Of course I was going. If only to find out what she really meant. If she meant anything at all. I hadn't really slept since she had left. Lying on my bed at night didn't count as sleeping. Going into her old room and breathing in the scent on her pillow – certainly not. She was an intoxicating blend of jasmine and something womanly. Something precious, that I wanted to inhale and never let go. Something mine...or something I very much wanted to be mine. It was all I could do some nights not to simply leave my home, and go to hers.

My wounds had healed fairly quickly, though some of the muscles inside my leg still pulled. I could play piano, which I thought incredibly important, and I had resumed Charlotte's music lessons on days when Eva was working elsewhere.

"You will come, won't you?" I asked, seeing an ill expression on her face. "Lacey, nothing will happen to you. You're going to be fine."

She looked very worried, her head shaking slightly. "What if _he_ recognizes me? He stares at me when he comes over here. Frequently. I don't want him to know who I am."

"Then he won't," I said reassuringly. "If he hasn't so far, then I doubt that he ever will."

"But...but I've got new dresses now. And this hair thing," she said, pulling it off and scowling at it. "I don't look much like I used to...I was always a chubby little thing before. Now look at me."

Remarkably I refrained from obeying her request. I had no intentions of ogling her, nor any other woman. And I could think of no suitable response in any case.

_You're slender?_

_Dainty?_

_Willowy?_

_Scrawny?_

I highly doubted any of those would work. "Please come, Lacey. It's your first Christmas since you left that place. It's my first Christmas – ever." Her eyes widened, and she leaned forward. "As your...ah...Uncle Erik, I would advise you to try and have fun. I would hate to think you are no longer capable of such a thing."

"I'll consider it," she conceded with a breathless little sigh. "On one condition."

"What is that?" I asked slowly.

"You must give Eva a sprig of mistletoe."

"A...err...what?"

"Mistletoe," she repeated.

"Okay. Why?"

She smiled, "It's customary for a guest to give their host a sprig of mistletoe. Don't you know anything about Christmas?"

"No. Not really."

Her smile widened further, if that was possible. "Trust me. You'll like this custom."

Somehow I didn't quite trust her, but I found myself bear hugging a tree on my property, climbing some fifteen feet into the air (with an injured leg, no less), and descending with what had to be the largest bough of mistletoe I could find. It was what had to be the ugliest plant I had ever seen, but if it made Christmas more traditional for Lacey, then who was I to complain?

Plants were not on my mind in any case.

Four words were prominent in my thoughts.

_'I miss you, Erik.'_

Then just two more.

_'Love, Eva.'_

_- - _

I hope the structure of this chapter didn't bother you too terribly much. Let me know about any errors. My brain is fried.


	75. Mistletoe and Roasting Chestnuts

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

**Monsieur de Chagny has something to say...There is a new chapter posted for him. Man, this turned out to be a long chapter. Sorry for the delay.**

_Eva_

I had seen Zachary no less than three times. It was hard to miss him. He stood a good foot taller than any other man walking down the street, and his shoulders were wider, his feet bigger, his arms longer. I couldn't have asked for a more efficient man to protect me, but he'd had his dreams, and they had never really included me or a baby. Not that he hadn't offered to support us both. Or even marry me. But he just wasn't a sensitive man, and he'd never noticed that I had needed more from him.

I hid every time I saw that big, black haired man coming towards me, or even as he was walking away from me. As much as he paid attention to his surroundings (he didn't), it was no surprise that he never saw me. Or realized someone had recently moved in my house, not that I had announced that fact. Once I had seen him in the company of a little boy wearing raggedy clothing and wearing a cap, and figured it was another one of his avid fans. Young men had seemed drawn to him. Young men like the guard Tomas Costas, who had the heart of a fighter, but not enough brawn to pull it off. There had always been a plethora of men around Zachary's house. At all hours of the day and night. And not once had I ever felt frightened, because no one had ever dared cross the enormous man. I had been 'yes ma'am'd' to death at the age of twenty by men both older and younger than I.

But I avoided contact with him, because I was certain now that I was going to charm Erik back into my life. I loved each letter he sent me, and Rebbecca snorted in derision when I slunk off to another room to read them. They gave me hope, and it beat wildly inside of me. He hadn't lied to me. I wasn't sure when I had realized it, or forgiven him for everything...but the way he had been with me told me he hadn't lied about how he felt. Even if the words weren't spoken, I knew we had shared something profound.

Something intimate. I had broken through his fragile defenses, healing his wounds. Healing wounds I couldn't see, but that were just as real. We had both been foolish and cruel, but I didn't think anything would stop Erik from taking something he wanted if it was freely offered. I didn't think he could deny me if I told him that I wanted him near.

And I didn't for one moment doubt that my superfluous valediction had gone unnoticed. After hearing what little he had told me of his life, I didn't think anyone had ever told him something like that. I did miss him. I did love him. Those words were easier for me to say than most people, though I had to admit saying it to a lover was frightening. Saying it to Erik in particular was a little scary, but I wasn't sure why.

But for me – I hadn't been able to say those words enough to the people I loved. My parents had both died prematurely, but while they had been sick I had told them every day, knowing that it could be the last time. I had told Rebbecca every day when she had been in my care. It was only natural to love Charlotte, and now that I was a grown woman (and in love for the first time, ever) I wanted to tell the man I loved how I felt. My heart would not be broken, of that I was certain.

I didn't think for one minute that he would turn me away. He needed love more than any other person that I knew, and I wanted to show him what love could do. I would demand honesty from him, and the right to change some of his eccentric habits. No more hiding in walls. No more deceptive, frivolous plans. He would become a real person, or he would be nothing.

And I was not willing to have my future open to disaster again. I would no longer risk unplanned pregnancies, and illegitimate babies. I wouldn't remain his employee, then become his lover. We would have it all, or we wouldn't be together.

If Erik wanted me – wanted me completely – he was going to have to make me his wife.

- -

On a chaotic Christmas day in Paris, 1875, at Number Eight Charlemagne Street: I was going berserk. I had never proclaimed to be a cook, but this was an absolute disaster. I had forgotten to light the oven when I placed the goose inside. It should have been done by the time my guests arrived, but I had never even turned it on. Raoul and the baby showed up with the wet nurse rather early, and he had looked amused when I asked if he might like to roast my chestnuts.

Several stammers later, I had sent the dratted man out to answer the door. Erik had arrived, and I was an anxious mess. I couldn't have been accused of peeking out my kitchen when he came through the front door, his arms laden with gifts; I hadn't been seen. He was wearing the white half mask and his black hair, and it was the first I had ever seen him with it since his bruises had healed. It fit properly now, shaping his face into a smooth, expressionless facade. I wasn't surprised to discover that I didn't like it, no matter how much it appealed to me. I would rather see what was beneath. The real man. Not the Phantom, and not that reclusive man I had worked for. Erik, the man I had healed and taken care of. The one I had made love to the one – "

"Eva!" Charlotte raced down the hallway, and I ducked back into the kitchen before I was caught. "Merry Christmas Eva!"

I handed her a cookie, told her Merry Christmas, then demanded that she send Lacey in to help me.

And Lacey, when she arrived, couldn't have looked less pleased to be here.

"Help me. Please," I begged her.

She took one look around the room at my half finished meal and her face brightened. "Can I stay in here out of everyone's way?"

"Well, I didn't invite you so you could be my slave," I said, half joking. "But you're more than welcome to – "

"You're a disaster in the kitchen!" she exclaimed, looking at my menu, then at the list of items that were needing to be completed. "Out with you!"

"Out?" I repeated cautiously. "Lacey – "

"Out!" she said firmly, then pointed at the door. "I'll have this ready in an hour, and have you some hors d'oeuvres out in fifteen minutes. Now go! Besides," she said, smiling a little wickedly, "I know you really don't want to be in here. Do you?"

I flushed, speaking more volumes than words could say. No. Having Christmas here had been an excellent ruse to get Erik back into my life. Not that the idea hadn't appealed to me, especially after Charlotte had told me about the lack of decorations in his house. The de Chagny's had always decorated too much, in my opinion, but it had always been something Charlotte had enjoyed.

"Go!" she ordered, then turned around.

I merely raised my eyebrows and left, finding a picturesque scene in my parlor. What little furniture I had was moved against the walls, and an enormous makeshift table was in the center, surrounded by seven chairs. A fire blazed in the hearth. Holly was strung about the mantle, with a tree to the side laden with three times as many gifts than had been there before Erik arrived.

He had been conversing quietly with Rebbecca, who was scowling in a chair in the corner. I couldn't hear what he was telling her, but from her expression I doubted that she liked it.

"Did you finish your chestnuts?" Raoul murmured in my ear.

"You're mind is filthy," I said, sniffing at him. "I'm sure there is no correct way to answer that."

He chuckled, which surprised me. I hadn't heard anything remotely resembling a sense of humor in a long time, and I wouldn't think spending his first Christmas without his wife would be an easy thing to do. He'd been by nearly every day since he had discovered I was living here, and usually planned his visits so that he could be here when Charlotte was. I thought he was lonely, and maybe more than a little depressed, but at times I could see what an engaging man he had been before tragedy struck.

Erik was pointing his finger at Rebbecca now, and she was giving him her best impersonation of a mule. I could tell by the way her chin was in the air that he was wasting precious seconds of his life.

I cleared my throat – twice – because it seemed they were deeply involved, and he finally turned his head to look at me. Like a panther cornered, for a moment he tensed, and his defenses rose swiftly. Then I was striding across the room towards him, and he didn't look so wound up any longer.

"I..."

"Erik." I somehow managed to smile, and not throw myself at him. I didn't miss Rebbecca's grunt, but I did ignore it. "I'm glad you could come."

"I..." He tried again, but in the end he merely nodded.

I sat down beside him, our eyes taking in every inch of one another. We couldn't stop, it seemed, not even when Rebbecca got up and moved to the other side of the room to sit beside Raoul's wetnurse, and Raoul himself smiled and left.

"My Christmas dinner is a disaster," I confessed, feeling odd all at once. "I'm afraid I am not much of a cook."

His green eyes showed their relief that I was not immediately launching into accusations or demands for answers. It was Christmas. Not time to drag ourselves back into the ugliness of the last time we had spoken. I wanted today to be special, and for us to spend time with each other without the pressure of old wounds or expectations.

"Better than Madame du Brul, I hope," he said softly.

I laughed, and he smiled. "Only a little better, but a lot more tolerable, I assure you. Lacey has kindly offered to complete the meal, so perhaps it will taste better than yesterday's stockings."

We stared at each other, comfortable smiles with a respectable distance separating us. Charlotte was sitting on the opposite side of James's wetnurse, merely looking at the child that was her brother. I wasn't sure, but I thought she may have feigned interest merely to aggravate Rebbecca, who had also been looking with a soft expression on her face.

"I have something for you," he said suddenly, then stood up. I followed him out into the hall, resisting sticking my tongue out at Rebbecca when she glared at me. Erik bent over in the darkened hall and lifted something. "Lacey said it was customary for a guest to give this to their host. Did Raoul bring any?" he asked, sounding a little uncertain.

"What is it?" I asked, waiting for my eyes to adjust to the darkened hall.

"Mistletoe," he said, and I felt my body grow warm.

"Mistletoe?" I echoed, and somewhere down the hall I heard a snicker. Lacey's doing, no doubt. "Do you know _why_ it's customary...well...actually...I'm not even sure that that is part of the custom!"

Out right laughter followed, and I heard a deeper voice laughing with her. Raoul was back there, no doubt offering to roast my chestnuts. Or Lacey's. If I hadn't been pleased, I might have offered to roast _theirs_.

Erik glared down the hall, then looked back to me expectantly. "No. Why?"

I pointed to the archway that led to my father's library. "Hang it here, please."

"_Hang it_?" he repeated, a suddenly wary expression on his face.

"Yes. Right there," I said, directing him to a nail that stuck out at the top, where my parents had hung mistletoe in years previous. I wasn't certain, but I thought there were nails in every doorway of the house. My father and mother had gotten along famously, especially when he came home from long trips abroad.

Erik easily placed the large bough over the nail, and stepped back with an inscrutable smile. "It's ugly," he said flatly. "Why would anyone want such a thing in their house?"

"It's a favored Christmas tradition," I said gravely. "Two people who get trapped under the mistletoe together must kiss."

I was not standing directly beneath it. Neither was he, but his eyes lowered to my mouth automatically, and my hands went around his neck, craving the familiar feel of his arms around my back.

"Kiss _each other_?" he whispered, and his lips met my own briefly.

"Mmmm," I answered, savoring the feel of his breath on my skin, of his warm hands pressing me up against his body. I had forgotten how tall he was. He'd spent much of his time in bed, and when he wasn't he hadn't walked up right because of the pain. Now I could feel him, all of him, pressed against me. Hard muscles and big hands, warm skin and soft lips.

He kissed me again with a solid groan, and our tongues sought each other with insistent desperation. Had we not been standing in the hall it would have turned more urgent. As it was, we were not quite proper. Not that we ever had been, but he felt too wonderful to resist. The kiss seemed to go on and on forever, our mouths saying what we hadn't yet said was in our hearts. I felt the leather of the mask bump against my skin, but I ignored it. There would be time to heal those wounds later. Time to apologize – to make things right between us.

All I wanted now was his kiss, and to thank the scheming little lady in the kitchen for thinking of something like this.

That kiss was heaven. It was divine.

And it ended when a little voice piped up, "What are you doing, Papa? I thought we were opening presents!"


	76. No Sorries Needed

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

_Erik_

I couldn't release her immediately. It wasn't a matter of wanting to – not that I particularly did – but once my arms had gone around her it wasn't in my heart to let her go. She smiled and flushed, beautiful and alive in my arms. Ignoring Charlotte, I kissed her again.

"Papa!"

"What is it?" I asked impatiently, frowning at my daughter.

"Pre-sents...," she reminded me, looking disappointed.

"Later, Charlotte," Eva said, not looking the slightest bit embarrassed to be snug against me. "After dinner."

"Pfft."

"Charlotte," I said, my tone chilling slightly.

"Oh, fine!" She flounced down the hall, heading straight for the kitchen.

I turned back to Eva, studying her face for a moment before I kissed her one last time. She sighed as I released her, though she held onto my hand, bringing it up against her own cheek. Her eyes closed and she smiled.

"I missed you too," I blurted out quietly.

"Erik, I – "

"The hors d'oeuvres are ready!" Lacey called as she sailed out of the kitchen, bearing a tray of something. Raoul followed, smiling as he passed, but he didn't look over at us.

Eva stepped back and straightened her dress, and I stared at her with nothing to say. I didn't quite know how to proceed any longer. She had all but declared her intent, and I was too dumbstruck to do anything about it. Even if I had wanted to, there were far too many people around.

I followed her into the parlor, noting that it looked slightly worse for wear. It had probably once been a very nice home, but it was practically falling down around their ears. There was a cold that didn't quite seem to leave despite the fire and all the people, and I noticed the ceiling had spots on it. The structure had likely been compromised while Victor had spent his money on fights.

I sat by myself in the corner for awhile, chewing on a rissole and watching the way they all were interacting. Eva seemed determined to ignore her sister, and vice versa. They were both enamored with James de Chagny, while his father brooded in the opposite corner. Lacey had retreated to the kitchen, and Charlotte gave up trying to be the center of attention and climbed her way into my lap.

"Thank you, Papa," Charlotte whispered, tucking her head against my chest.

"For...ah...for what?"

She didn't look up. "You were kissing Eva."

I cleared my throat, words failing me for a moment. She was impish by half, and devilish by the other, but she was mine. "So I was."

But she didn't enter into a treacherous conversation about matrimony or new mothers. She merely smiled, as if by kissing Eva I had righted her entire world. If I had known that was all she needed...well, hell...I'm certain I could have managed it sooner.

Eva returned to my side, smiling as she carried James. I could tell by the look in her eyes that she was – as every woman is – enthralled. Even Rebbecca had softened towards the little mite, kicking his lean arms and legs. He wasn't as chubby as I expected a child ought to be. Not that I was an expert, but I seemed to have heard at one point in my life that a healthy baby was a fat baby. Or some such nonsense.

"Isn't he precious?" she whispered, looking at me with a mysterious expression.

"He seems to be," I said, looking down at him. I had held him once, and it hadn't been an easy experience for either one of us. I thought it might be best if we maintained a distance until he was around Charlotte's age, or so. "They drool often, don't they?"

"They're babies!" she cooed, her laughter tickling at my ear. "They're supposed to drool. Would you like to hold your brother, Charlotte?"

"Me?" Charlotte sat up straight and looked at her. "But I'm too little!"

"Not at all," she said, scooting over so that she could sit between us. She laid the babe down in Charlotte's arms, carefully supporting his head. I thought the boy might have been in a little danger, myself, but Charlotte's expression was unlike any I had ever seen.

"Say hello James," Eva instructed her, touching Charlotte's hair.

Charlotte stared down at the boy, and oddly, he seemed to stare right back up at her. I felt something choking me, and realized it was one of those emotions that had been plaguing me of late. Happiness, Joy, Terror. One of those.

I would have given anything for a sibling in this life. For either a brother or a sister, even if I had never had a father or a mother. I might very well have one, but I would never know. That was why I had not seen it necessary to put further distance between Rebbecca and Eva. I knew what she had done, and most likely why. She knew what she had done, and was still feeling pretty good about it. But I had a feeling that Rebbecca's steam would run out one day, and I didn't want her to be alone with her anger.

"Hello, James," Charlotte whispered, touching her brother's hand. "It's Christmas, you know."

I glanced up to find Raoul paying rapt attention, but his eyes were unfocused as he stared at the two of them with his elbows on his knees, and his hands clasped under his chin. I saw the reality of the day come crashing around him at once. His eyes met mine, then he left the room. A few moments later he left the house.

- -

Lacey finished dinner, and I told them there was likely no need to wait on Raoul. I didn't think he would be returning until our festivities were well over. Something had changed in his expression, and I knew he had needed to escape. My Christmas had become a dream, and his a nightmare.

Throughout the meal Lacey kept glancing at the door, as if she thought he might return. I suspected there was something beating there within her heart for him. A hope that he would see something of the girl she had been, and not the thing she thought she had become. But he was still in the throes of grief, and could see nothing past that.

Eva sat across from me and smiled, the candlelight making her eyes glow, and skin look warm and inviting. So did the blush that stole across her face each time our eyes met. I resolved to stop interrupting her meal so that we could finish.

On to the presents.

Then perhaps on to something else.

Lacey and Eva cleared the plates while Charlotte fidgeted almost uncontrollably in her chair. She had been pestering me all day about presents. I had known, of course, what Christmas meant to a child. I remembered the disappointment quite well, and it had carried on well through my adulthood. But to a child who already knew what Christmas was about...who _expected_ those presents and knew that they were going to get _something_ without any uncertainty...well...it had to be torturous.

"Now?" she asked again, staring at a large, brightly colored box.

"Not just yet," I said with a sigh.

Her eyes were fixed on it, like a dog for a piece of meat. That rocking horse didn't stand a chance. It wasn't a walrus, and I hoped it was better than a real pony. I wasn't certain I was prepared to deal with one of those cantankerous beasts just yet. Better to wait until she could ride a real horse.

"N-"

"Not yet," I interrupted before she could start.

Eva directed me to move the table and to rearrange her furniture so that it faced the tree, and Lacey tried to slink off when it was apparent that it was time to open presents.

"Not so fast." I grabbed her arm and pushed her into a chair. "You have something here too."

"I do?" She gaped at me.

"From me too," Eva said, sitting next to the tree. "Here...I believe this one is yours."

It was a set of perfumes from Eva, which made her cry. Madame du Brul, as per my instructions, had gotten her a very pretty hat that came with a blond wig. She didn't seem the least bit embarrassed to pull the current one off and exchange them, and I had gotten nearly the same thing in red for Rebbecca, though she barely smiled when hers was opened. She had smiled even less when she opened Eva's gift, which was a makeup case, filled to the brim with all sorts of cosmetics.

Charlotte was gifted with the rocking horse from me, a paint set from Eva, and Raoul had gotten her a locket with a picture of her brother inside. By mutual agreement we had decided not to get one another anything. It was just too weird, and he had announced he was playing humbug this year anyway. He had given Eva, Rebbecca, and Lacey one thousand francs each a few days prior to Christmas, clearly not wanting much to do with the holiday unless it involved children.

With Charlotte occupied in the corner with her rocking chair, Rebbecca and Lacey dashed upstairs to try on their wig/hats. The governess left discreetly, and I felt my heart begin to pound.

"Well...they went through that rather fast, didn't they?" I exclaimed, looking pointedly to a box that was still sitting on the floor.

"I see it," she murmured, picking it up. She pulled another box from beneath the tree, about the same size and shape. Long, narrow, and rectangular.

"Oh."

"I think I know what this is," she said softly, setting one of the boxes into my lap. Hers was covered in red wrapping paper, mine in blue.

I shook mine a little and smiled as I heard tiles moving around.

"I'm sorry about your father's set," I said, pulling the paper away from mine. The box was dark cherry wood, the tiles ivory black with white dots. "Charlotte broke them all."

"I know," she responded, pulling her own wrapping tissue apart. Her box was painted white with small flowers adorning the top. The tiles were the same as mine. "This is a little odd, you know."

"No," I breathed, closing my box and setting it aside. "I think it...I think it signifies something."

She sniffed and lifted a tile, her thumb rubbing over the glossy surface. "I would like to apologize to you, Erik."

"There is none necessary," I whispered, tugging her across the sofa. "But I should like to apologize to you as well."

"You've already been forgiven," she whispered back, then pulled me down for a scorching kiss, a domino clutched desperately in her hand.


	77. Unromantic Swoon

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

_Eva_

I felt someone staring, and turned my lips away from Erik's. Charlotte. She was still sitting on her rocking horse, regarding us with a very curious expression. Erik apparently didn't notice, because his lips brushed over my cheek, then feathered backwards towards my ear.

I cleared my throat loudly, and he pulled away. "What is it?"

"Charlotte," I murmured. "Why don't you come sit beside me?"

She slid down wordlessly and settled in tight between us. I looked to Erik, wondering at his thoughts, wishing I didn't feel a niggle of doubt. Did he think I was still trying to take Christine's place? Was I being too forward, making us sit together like a family? Mother, father, and daughter? I worried I was making a fool of myself, putting too much stock in what he might feel for me.

For once it seemed she was speechless, and for that I was thankful. I wasn't sure I wanted to know just yet if I was being overly hopeful. I knew he wanted me – I had felt that earlier – but did he love me? Or could he? Or was he still hung up on Christine?

"Do you like your locket?" I asked, lifting the delicate chain and peering at the little boy inside.

"Yes," she confirmed, settling her face against the side of my breast, and her arms around my waist. "He's not that bad, I guess."

"Your brother?" Erik asked with a chuckle, and my heart caught as he stroked her cheek. Did that mean he was accepting? This situation felt beyond odd. I was a former employee of Raoul's former daughter, sitting with the man who was my current employer with his current daughter. As strange as it sounded I couldn't help but feel ill at ease. Perhaps I _was _making a fool of myself. Maybe neither one of these men wanted me to replace Christine. Maybe I only saw her imperfections because she had been Charlotte's mother – a position I had coveted for more than five years.

"He smiled at me," Charlotte said softly, and I detected a note of tiredness in her voice. She had worn herself out over the day, and to confirm my suspicions she yawned loudly.

"Why don't you go upstairs and get into my bed?" I whispered softly to her.

Erik's eyes had widened for a moment, as if I had offered it to him. I was about to disappoint us both on that regard, and I had a feeling he wasn't going to be pleased.

"You can rest until your Papa is ready to leave," I added, and with a disgruntled sigh she left.

Erik's hands slid over my wrists, pulling me back to him. My mouth opened to his, and with desperate, rough sounds his hands moved around my back, enfolding me tightly to him. "Eva," he whispered, brushing his mouth over mine. "I missed you so much."

My hands crept up his neck, then to his face, and to my relief he didn't even pause. My actions didn't frighten him. I had already seen everything of him – I could only hope I hadn't destroyed that with my careless and hurtful words. He leaned back to look in my eyes for a moment, but it was clear he wasn't thinking about the mask. I knew his thoughts, and he knew mine. But I knew we couldn't continue necking on my sofa. There were still other people in the house, and at any moment Raoul could come back.

That was the only thing saving us – saving me – from making a mistake. Because while I was inviting Erik back into my life with open arms, I was not inviting him back into my bed. I was through with that. If I was good enough for one thing, then I would be good enough for it all. Marriage, and motherhood. Sex wasn't quite secondary to what I wanted from him, but it was no longer the only thing.

"We must stop," I gasped as his hand began to roam. I had to put a stop to this before he came close to touching my breasts, or I was a goner. "Erik, this is a public room."

"I don't want to stop," he muttered, but his hands halted in their dangerous journey. "I never want to stop with you."

"Erik, I have to talk to you," I whispered, running my hand up his cheek. He leaned back and searched my eyes, suddenly looking hesitant. "We can't go back to the way things were."

"What do you mean?" he asked slowly. "You want me to...," he swallowed hard, "..._court_ you?"

Dreadful man, he looked stricken. No, it wasn't what I wanted. I wanted him to marry me. Tonight. Tomorrow. In five minutes. I didn't need him to court me, because I already knew that I wanted him. And I didn't want to wait. Maybe it was he who needed the time.

"Not so much as court me..."

He didn't take the bait, and his eyes darkened.

"Not that either," I said dryly. I sighed, and gave him a long look, willing him to read my mind. I couldn't ask him to marry me. It would be lowering for both of us, I thought. Especially me, because he might not like me being so bold. "I won't have another child out of wedlock."

It was as close as I could come to saying that I wouldn't sleep with him without the benefit of marriage, and that if he wanted me he was going to have to put a ring on my finger.

He still didn't get it, or he was pretending to be very stupid.

"I see," he answered, frowning.

I shifted uncomfortably, waiting for him to say something else. His green eyes were shadowed with doubt and very small hint of bravery. I could see his courage shimmering there, but it was overcome with other things that were more pressing on his mind. He was afraid to ask me. I could see it in his eyes. He swallowed several times, and I sighed again. It was time to release the poor man from his uncomfortable spell – but I still wouldn't ask him to marry me. If he wanted to do it – and I was very, very choosy on how a man proposed to me – then he was going to have to ask. My first proposal from Zachary had been embarrassing. And all the ones subsequent. The man had just never gotten it.

At the very least Erik could ask, even if it wasn't with flair. At least when he asked – I knew how much he would actually want to be married to me.

"Will you visit again?"

"Yes," he said instantly, followed by a frown. "Are you sure you won't come with me? You will be much safer in my home. As will Rebbecca."

"She won't leave," I said simply. "And I cannot abandon her."

"I admire your devotion," he replied sincerely. "I would love to have a..."

He broke off, then looked embarrassed. Or terrified. He thought himself worthless. Undeserving of love. Whether he wanted a sister like me, or if it was simply someone to love him I wasn't certain. Maybe both. Perhaps if I told him how I felt, I could very well find myself married soon. Perhaps that was what he needed – and I realized with sudden clarity – it probably was.

"I love you," I whispered.

He let out a strangled sound, his eyes closing and mouth parting. I studied his strong, yet trembling jaw. Pain and disbelief mingled with hope on his face. I wanted to remove his mask, but I didn't want to ruin the moment by making him feel more vulnerable. His eyes opened slowly when I put both my hands on his neck and kissed him.

"I do love you," I said again, and felt him squeeze me so tight I could hardly breathe.

We both nearly hit the ceiling when someone began knocking on the door. Loudly. Actually, I would consider it more of a desperate pound.

"What in the world...?"

Our romantic declarations on hold, I leapt to my feet and straightened my hair. The pounding increased, then I heard a man bellowing. For heaven's sakes, it was already dark! Who in their right mind would be beating on someone's door with such ferocity? Erik looked ferociously angry, and stalked across the room until he was in the corner again.

"Well, answer it," he grumbled.

"What...what if it's the gendarmes?"

"They wouldn't have knocked," he gritted out, but he looked less than certain. By this time Lacey and Rebbecca had come down the stairs, and were staring from the hall at the door.

"EVA! EVANGELINE NOVELLI I KNOW YOU'RE IN THERE!"

"Oh my God," I whispered, pressing my knuckles against my mouth.

"Good job, Eva!" Rebbecca hissed. "Why didn't you just invite all your lovers over for Christmas? This is beyond entertaining."

"OPEN THE DAMNED DOOR, WOMAN, OR I WILL BREAK IT DOWN!" Zachary continued to roar.

"He'll tear my house apart," I murmured stupidly, then hurried towards the door. What in God's name was he thinking? How could he so desperately want or need to see me? And now...of all times. I realized belatedly that all the traffic around my home must have finally zapped his attention.

I could only picture what that enormous shoulder would do to my entrance. Or his boot, or any other part of his body he decided to use to force his way inside. What would he have done if it hadn't been me, I wondered?

I opened the door to find his silvery eyes full of fire, his black hair falling across his rugged face. They barely acknowledged me before I was crushed against his chest, his arms holding me too tight as always, nearly breaking me in half. I grunted under the strain of his affection, and tried to push him off me in vain.

"Zachary, you're hurting me," I managed to gasp, feeling my backbone pop, but still he didn't let go. I had missed him at times over the last five years. He was the first man I had made love to. The first man who had ever kissed me. He'd been a ribald companion who had laughed too loud and fought with more passion than he made love, but I had always been fond of him. He had a sweet nature that was often unmatched, and rarely displayed, but a fierce loyalty that had never once been compromised. For a moment I relaxed and allowed myself to remember that I had always really, really liked Zachary. Even if I would never love him the way I loved Erik.

"She said let her go, you big brute. You're hurting her," Rebbecca said from behind me.

He lifted his head and set me away from him, giving me a big, goofy smile. "You're alright?" he asked cautiously.

"Fine," I managed, feeling about the size of a Shetland standing next to a Percheron.

He sucked me back into his arms and squeezed again, then looked over to my sister. "Becca," he said, and started for her.

"Now you know that's not my name," she said hastily, backing away from him. "No...no...stay over there! I don't want you to - "

She shrieked and ran when he tried to hug her, and it was a good thing. He really might have hurt her as frail as she was. I came around the corner just in time to see her standing behind Erik, peering around his shoulder. Zachary had stopped in the center of the room, and the two men were staring at one another. Erik's eyes were glittering with anger, and I knew what Zachary's were without looking. Open, friendly, and curious.

"Who are you?" he asked bluntly.

"Zachary." He turned when I said his name, and Erik gritted his teeth. I wasn't certain what to say to him. This was why I had avoided him, and really, this situation was worse than I could have imagined. "This...this is Erik Chartraine."

Zachary grunted, and inclined his head slightly.

Erik didn't really move, except a glare at the girl who was cowering behind his back. For someone who didn't like Erik, she had certainly changed her mind awfully quick.

"Erik, this is Zachary Rougette."

And there was really nothing I had left to say.

"You aren't dead," Zachary stated, finally turning around to face me.

"Not last time I checked," I said, trying for a glib tone and failing.

"I worried about you. You should have waited for me."

I looked away as guilt hit me. He hadn't deserved a letter in the mail. He hadn't deserved me leaving and never once bothering to see him. But I hadn't deserved him going to England while I was heavily pregnant so that he could fight. He had abandoned me when I had needed him most, because his heart had always been somewhere else. He was a boxer. A rough man, who was rough around more than just his edges. Out of the ring he was kind, honest, and loyal. But he wasn't always terribly bright.

"It doesn't matter anymore," I said quietly.

"Victor tried to tell me you were dead. I didn't believe him," he said slowly. "I never believed anything he told me. I did get your letter a few years back, but I thought that maybe he had sent it."

"No...I...," I cleared my throat, and glanced at Erik. He was watching me with narrowed eyes, and I could actually see his hope dying inside of him. "I sent it," I confirmed with a whisper. "I'm so sorry about the...the..."

"You got hosed, Eva. Victor got us both."

I blinked at him, and he turned around and shouted, "Where the hell did you go? I told you to get your little ass in here!"

I heard shuffling out in the hall, then a little boy came into the room. It was the same one I had seen him with a few days ago. He stared at the floor and dragged his toe across the wood, clearly resentful of being ordered about in such a fashion.

"Yes, Papa?" the little boy said.

I glanced at Zachary, instant confusion entering my mind.

"Well?" he said, raising his brows.

"Well what?" I demanded, looking between them both.

"Don't you recognize your own child, Eva?" he asked impatiently.

"_What?_" I asked hoarsely, feeling a draining of every ounce of my sanity.

_Don't you recognize your own child?_

_Don't you recognize your own child, Eva?_

Those words screamed in my mind over and over again, but all I could do was stare at that little boy, who hadn't yet looked up at me.

"No. I had a girl," I whispered vacantly, still staring at the boy. "No, Zachary. No...don't do this to me. Please."

Zachary shot me an impatient look, then stalked over to the boy and tugged the cap off. Bright coppery colored hair tumbled around a dirty face, with eyes so similar to my own that I felt my heart stop. He'd tilted_ her_ head backwards when he had wrenched off the cap, and _she _shot him a sullen look as she rearranged _her _hair. I didn't quite faint. I would never do such a feminine thing. The boy...no...it _was_ a girl...looked up at me with a shy, painfully hopeful expression. My legs buckled beneath me, and it was not a graceful fall. There were no strong arms to catch me – that only happens in penny novels.

I fell hard onto the floor, my head bouncing off of it with a crack. And unlike the novels – where the woman faints and is awakened in the strong arms of a man, I heard laughter.

Zachary's laughter, echoing off the walls of my parlor.

I never even got to close my eyes, because I saw the girl approach, and my tongue was sufficiently tied that I could not speak.

She stared at me and crouched down. "Are you my mother?"

- -

I hope, sincerely hope, that I have gotten one over on you readers. Especially MJ MOD, who always catches on and leaves it in my reviews. Mwwwhhuuuhhhaaaaa


	78. A Proposal Worth Consideration?

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

_Erik_

"He says you are," the girl continued, giving up her kneeling position, and sitting cross legged on the floor by Eva. "He told me you're my mother."

There was absolutely no way to describe what I felt. None. She had just told me that she loved me a few moments ago, and now she was sprawled on the floor while a big man in unkempt clothes laughed his head off.

"Get up, girl. You aren't hurt!" he said, still shaking with laughter. He grabbed her by the arms and snatched her up – far too roughly in my opinion. "Now then. What do you think of that?"

He couldn't have done this less tactfully. If it were true. Eva was in shock. Her face was white, and she couldn't pull her eyes away from the girl.

"Go get your sister something to drink," I murmured to Rebbecca.

She miraculously obeyed, skirting around Zachary Rougette as if she feared he might grab her and dance with her like a rag doll. Lacey stared at me for several moments then followed Rebbecca from the room, her expression full of sympathy and pity. I felt the first stirrings of anger, and moved forward as Zachary released her. She swayed, and I pulled her gently by the arms and forced her to sit down. The girl – who was undoubtedly named Amber – moved forward and sat beside her, such a lost and lonely expression on her face that I felt my breath catch.

"Are you my mother?" she repeated, her voice in a soft, delicate demand.

"I...," Eva's mouth opened and closed, and she glanced up at Zachary, then back to the girl. "I don't know."

Zachary sighed and pulled the girl backwards. "Don't pester her, child. She's in shock. Why don't you go see if those girls have any food in the kitchen? Tell your Aunt Becca."

Aunt_ Becca_? Rebbecca would love that, I thought, watching the girl walk reluctantly away from Eva. She had likely been waiting for this since the first time she realized what a mother was. It was hard for her to walk away. Eva's eyes devoured the girl, hope and fear mixed in her expression.

"Zachary...how...?" she began, then had to shift her hands to beneath her legs. They were shaking that much.

"I found her," he said simply, his mouth breaking into a wide smile.

"Found her?" I echoed, then glanced down at Eva. If he had done this to her over a child he had picked up off the streets, I was going to kill him. Or attempt to. My God, he was a big man.

Zachary looked at me, and nodded. Obviously he didn't realize I had the wish to tear him apart. Or he didn't care, because he just studied the mask a moment and smiled.

"Two years ago. She was staying here with Victor and a nurse. Pretty thing...tall...brown eyes. She had a -"

"Zachary," Eva gritted out, glaring at him. "I'm not interested in the nurse."

"Right." He flashed a smile and ducked his head as he pulled a chair away from the table. He spun it around and sank down onto it.

It held for a few seconds while we all listened to it groan – then it broke right from underneath him.

"Dammit woman," he yelped, struggling to sit up. "When are you going to get some real chairs in this house? That's the eight one I've broke."

"The last – I believe – of my parent's set," she murmured, but not without a smile.

He didn't appear the least bit surprised to find himself on the floor, and for a moment he merely chuckled. Then he looked at me seriously.

"I'm sixteen and a half stones of overgrown maleness. I haven't found a chair that will hold me yet in this house."

I regarded _him_ as one might an overgrown_ dog: _large, sloppy, and far too senseless to hate. As far as everything went on looks and brains, I certainly had no need to fear this man. Just the unbreakable connection he had with her, through the girl. His face looked like it had taken far too many beatings to be considered handsome, and in another few years of drinking his face would turn into a ruddy mass of wrinkles. And I certainly didn't think him more intelligent.

So I did the only thing a man in my position could do when he held his hand up, indicating I should grab it.

I gave him mine, nearly heaved over under the strain of his enormous weight. He was not a fat man, I quickly discovered. He was my height, but he was wider - muscled - and his feet and hands twice the size of mine. I dared not think beyond that, and completely ignored any references to his ears.

Eva was watching me, and I stepped back and sat down in the corner of the room. She could order me to leave, or ask me to stay, but she would make her choice and I would accept it. There was obviously no love between them, but I could sense a great deal of wary affection on Eva's part. She likely thought he might hug her one day, and she would simply disappear in his arms.

Their history aside – which I was struggling to forget – she had told me she loved me. It was all that I could do to stop from shouting it back now. My foolish cowardice earlier had cost me the chance of proposal, and now I was going to wait and see if it had been lost forever.

"Please tell me," Eva whispered, her lips trembling and eyes filling with tears. "I can't take this...this hope. If it's not real...please..."

He sighed then sat beside her. "She is our daughter," he said softly. "I beat the truth out of Victor. He took her the night you had her, and told you that she was dead. I was just...walking by one day and I saw her playing outside. Three years old, and she was right there on the steps with her nurse. I just looked at her, and I knew who she was."

"He was...he was raising her as his own?" she gasped.

"I think so. He tried to pass her off as his at first. Until I got my hands on him. I...uh...I did a bit of damage to your house. I'm sorry."

"That was_ you_?" she asked, her eyes widening.

He looked affronted. "You didn't think a little wimp like Victor could do that, did you?"

"Zachary!" She slapped his shoulder, doing little to no damage. "You broke my things! You...you destroyed this house! I had to replace everything in here! Are you telling me _you_ did this?"

"Well, yes," he said uncertainly, his prideful tone slipping. "I was angry. You know how I am when I lose my temper."

"I've never seen you lose your temper," she muttered. "And I really, really don't want to."

I didn't think I did either, though I had doubts about it rivaling my own. I simply didn't tear things apart...unless little girls locked themselves in rooms, to which I had no key.

"Ah, Evie, I'm so sorry," he said, thumping her on the back. "I handled this all wrong. I should have known de Chagny was lying to me."

"He was protecting me," she said, then glanced at me. "I...uh...Zachary. This is Erik."

"You've already introduced us," he replied, his eyes crinkling. "I think you hit your head a little too hard."

"Erik helped Rebbecca get out of Salpetriere. The...the guards there shot him twice, and beat him," she contiuned, rubbing her temple self consciously.

"Did they?" he asked curiously, then looked at the mask closely. "You look as if you could have used a little help."

I said nothing, switching my eyes over to Eva. She looked a little frightened, as if she didn't really know what to do.

"Victor didn't make it," he said quietly, waiting for a reaction from me.

"No. Victor didn't make it," I said, raising a brow. "He forgot how to swim."

"Erik!"

"Eva," I returned without hesitation.

"Erik didn't do it," she ground out. "It just happened."

She took my glory away from me. Zachary had beaten him – twice apparently. I had to have something over this man. She had a child with him, and now there were other factors to consider. Might she marry _him,_ then?

And as if to confirm my worst fears, he turned to her with a very stoic expression and took her hands, completely ignoring the warning in my eyes.

"Eva. Do you want me to marry you?"

The room was silent for so long I thought I heard the wind moan outside. Or maybe it was my heart, dying inside. This was it, I realized. This was the end for me, because there was no way short of strangling him while he was asleep that I could defeat him. There would be no pushing him around a lake and tying him up. No swordfights in cemeteries, because I doubted I could do any damage.

"Ah, Zachary," Eva sighed. "I'm so sorry. I can't marry you."

And then_ he_ sighed, not concealing his utter relief. "Are you certain, girl? It's the right thing to do, you know."

"Perhaps it's the most proper," she said softly. "But I don't care."

"Victor named her Mary, or some nonsense. I named her Amber," he said quietly, tipping her face back beneath her chin. "You are her mother. I am her father. I know I'm not much - but I will take care of you both."

"You don't want to be married, Zachary. And I don't want to marry a man who doesn't want me," she said gently, then, "I have someone who does want to be with me."

He glanced at me, and I inclined my head slightly. It was all I could do not to take her from him right then. I understood why she didn't take his offer, and it wasn't just about me.

_Do you want me to marry you?_

It was the worst proposal he could have possibly given. One that guaranteed that, _no_, I don't want you to _have_ to marry me. He wasn't a romantic man, nor was he sensitive - at all.

"What about Amber?" he questioned suddenly. "Do you...do you _want_ to be her mother?"

Eva started to cry. "Of course I do, you silly man! How could you think that I wouldn't...do you have any idea how much...how much..."

Her words were muffled then, as he pulled her in his arms. And I did nothing, because I was frozen into my seat. I watched them intertwined, unsure of what I was seeing. Was it two lovers reuniting? Two people simply consoling one another? I had no idea what to think of this affection between them. It wasn't passion. It wasn't sexual. It was loyalty, and a bond I was doubtful that would ever break. It was obvious they cared for one another, but I was too inexperienced with the rest of the human population to define what they shared.

"God save me from hysterical females," he grunted, then looked at me. He always seemed to look at me. It was odd, really. There was no challenge written into his expression. And he truly seemed to not be bothered by anything at all. I suppose he took his frustrations out in other places - like in a ring.

I moved from my chair with ease. "I'll take her," I said firmly, and he practically pushed her into my arms and moved away. Her sobs grew harder, the sounds more desperate. Her arms slid up around my neck and latched there, unwilling to let me go now that I was back in her possession. I kissed her cheek, then (not purely for show), I kissed her lips, brushing away her tears and looking into her eyes. I told her with them that she was mine, and she smiled in return.

"I love you, Erik," she whispered.

"Eva I - "

"What the hell is going on in here?"

I glared over at the distraction. Raoul had come through the open front door, and was staring at us all with a baffled expression.


	79. For the First Time

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

_Eva_

Erik's hold tightened on me, and I glanced up to see Raoul and Zachary looking at one another warily.

"You lied to me," Zachary said softly. "I don't appreciate dishonesty in a man."

"My loyalty is to Madame Novelli. She had suffered enough," he said, shrugging Zachary off. "I was under the impression you had a _little woman_ waiting for you at home."

I glanced between them, seeing Zachary look puzzled for a moment, then he barked out laughter. "Oh. Yeah. A real _little_ woman! Why don't you go in the kitchen and have a look at her? "

Raoul looked at me, and I nodded. "Go on," I whispered.

He turned and left, and I fought the urge to follow him. Now that she was here – now that I knew it was true – what would I say to her? The intense feelings were frightening. Right now I wanted to do nothing more than cry.

"He thought I had a mistress," Zachary explained. "I've been back and forth from England for the last year. When I went to see him he thought I – well, hell. I don't care what he thought. Did he tell you I was searching for you?"

I nodded, just once. "I've, ah, I've seen you around the neighborhood. With...her."

He looked angry suddenly. "Why didn't you speak to me? Do you have any idea what I've been doing the last two years?"

I shook my head slowly, turning slightly out of Erik's arms. "I'm sorry," I murmured. "It's no excuse -"

"You're damn right it's not! I am not a good father, and you know it! I mean...just look at her. She's wearing boy's clothes. She can't read or write. Neither can I. I don't want her to grow up to...to be ignorant like me," he said plainly. "She's a good child, as much as I know about children. But me...I'm not suited for this. She should be with you."

"Zachary I...I don't know what to say. Don't you want to be her father?" I asked softly.

"Of course I do. I'm just not a good one. Have you been listening to me?" he demanded. "Wait...are you two married?"

I felt Erik startle beside me. His head snapped around, and he looked at Zachary with suspicion. "No. Why?"

"Well. You look married," he stated. "Do you...have more children?"

"Erik has a daughter," I said slowly. "She is Raoul's..."

"Step daughter?" he offered, and I gave a little shrug. I didn't know what to tell him about Charlotte. "I met her, the little termagant."

"I'm her governess."

He glanced at Erik, his eyes changing suddenly to sharp, brittle splinters. "Are you, now?" he asked, bristling.

Erik's grip on me tightened, and I heard his breathing change. Tensity charged the room, and I stood quickly, willing them not to go at one another.

"There's no need to protect me anymore," I said mildly. "I do well enough on my own these days."

"Eva."

"No, Zachary. I am_ part_ of Erik. He hasn't taken advantage of me, and this is what I want." Erik stood behind me and placed his hand over my shoulder. His breath stirred the hair on my neck, and I leaned against him. Into his strength. Into his vulnerable, dark world. He was mine, and I loved him. And I had to show him I loved him. So I simply told Zachary that I did, and the larger man nodded his reluctant approval.

"Then I guess there's nothing left to say," he told me. "But it's past time that you met your daughter." He turned and shouted, "Amber. Get your little ass in here!"

Suitable father, indeed.

- -

She was shy. Incredibly shy, though I detected a little bit of mischievousness in that little face. She had my mother's hair – that bright, coppery orange that my mother had hated, but that had looked so beautiful. Already she had hundreds of freckles coating her face – proof that her father didn't know that fair little girls weren't supposed to venture outdoors without a bonnet.

And there were other things he definitely hadn't taught her. Like that little girls wore dresses, and didn't hide their hair beneath caps. Her face was streaked with dirt, but I noticed it was really more of a one day thing, rather than days or weeks of unwashing. She smelled sweet, her hair was clean, if not really combed, and I didn't doubt for one moment that she had her Papa wrapped around her finger.

"You're my mother?" she repeated, looking at me with curious, big yellow-gold-brown eyes.

"I...yes...yes I am," I managed to whisper, kneeling down in front of her. Her face blurred before my eyes, and I reached out and touched that long hair. Novelli hair. Stirling hair. She had gotten that from me. _My daughter_. My God, I could scarcely draw a breath.

I wanted to tell her how many nights I had cried for her. How many days. I was still shocked beyond belief, and frightened all at once. _My daughter_. And she needed me. I could see such a yearning expression on her face, and it was so wonderful to be needed. Because I needed her too.

"Amber," I choked as I said her name, finally pulling her in my arms. She sighed softly, her arms going around my neck as I sobbed. I didn't want to frighten her, but I couldn't stop.

"I didn't know you," she said in a little precocious tone. "How come I didn't know you?"

"It's...it's hard to explain," I replied, pulling back to look at her. "But I wanted you, Amber. Oh, I did. I love you, and I've always loved you."

She did look frightened then, and tears began to snake down her face. I felt overcome, because I couldn't tell her anything. One day she might learn the truth, but she may never understand what her uncle had done to her. I couldn't tell her that I thought she'd been dead. That was too much for a child to handle.

"You didn't give me away?" she whispered.

"No," I rasped. "No, I would never have given you away."

"I wanted to see you," she murmured, glancing up at me beneath carrot colored eyebrows. "Papa said you lived far away."

"I did...but I've moved back home. And I will...I will see you often. I did want you," I repeated fiercely. Damn Victor for doing this to me. To her. To us. I was going to be angry later. When I wasn't shocked, I was going to be so, so angry. "I do love you. Amber. Amber."

I repeated her name so many times that it was a wonder she didn't sigh. But she clung to me, as if realizing the importance of this: our first meeting.

And I had been stupid enough to believe that she had died. I'd never seen her. Never held her. I had simply accepted the doctor's soft, sympathetic speech, remembering with horror that I had fallen outside the hospital. I had thought I had killed my own child. That I had done it – and I deserved to live with the guilt.

Then there had been Charlotte.

Charlotte.

What was she going to think about this?

"I love you, Mama," Amber said, looking up at me. "I want to sit on your lap. Please."

Everyone had left the room to give us a moment. Even Erik, and Raoul had left to take James and his nurse home. I had no idea where they were, but on a bizarre Christmas night in Paris, 1875, at Number Eight Charlemagne Street: I held my daughter for the first time.

And it was beautiful.


	80. Tomorrow is a Perfect Day

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

_Erik_

"So...do you love Evangeline?" Zachary asked me, arms crossed over his chest, leaning back safely against a kitchen counter.

Lacey shot me an apprehensive glance, then hurried from the room, leaving us alone. Rebbecca had disappeared earlier, Eva was getting acquainted with her daughter, and that left me and this colossal fellow to chat – amicably.

"With all my heart," I answered, hoping I didn't sound maudlin to a man who made his living beating other men.

"And you will marry her?" he questioned persistently.

"I have been trying to ask her all evening," I said mildly. "Despite the disruptions."

"Her happiness is important to me. I can't see us having problems, you and I," he said, in an odd tone. "I knew her father. And I am quite fond of her – even of her sister. I don't want there to be problems between us. Do you understand? I detest problems. I always have to _deal_ with them. It is never pleasant."

"Perhaps – just for clarification – you might tell me what you intend," I replied slowly.

"You look like a sort of possessive man. I can't imagine why. But I would like to maintain a relationship with my daughter's mother. And of course, if you are to marry, then it shall be with you as well. I travel frequently – or I used to do so more. Now you will, in effect, be taking much of my place in Amber's life. Once again," he sighed, shrugging his shoulders, "I don't like problems. They never end well."

"I am possessive," I agreed readily. "You can't imagine why? Let's just say I'm not a handsome individual, and I generally do not have an ending such as I experienced tonight. The Vicomte...now he gets the lady's favor. Charlotte's mother. I, well. I'm not always such a bastard, but I often am. I haven't had Charlotte for very long. Since her mother died in October. I didn't know about her until then, and Eva was with her from the time of her birth. You will be putting your daughter into the hands of a man just learning to be a father, and a woman who desperately wants to be someone's mother."

His head lowered, and his brows raised. "Then you will likely do better than me. I'm not good at this. She's a good girl, but good God! She's a _girl_! She ought to be with her mother. And if Eva won't have me, then I know that I'm not suited for marriage either."

That sounded close to an insult, but whether I wasn't certain which one of us he was insulting. As if she'd just about take anything. Even me. Or just not him.

"She's a likable girl," he continued. "Eva, that is. Never complained about my comings and goings -"

I wasn't certain I needed to hear this -

"- I had all sorts of odd men over, always wanting to go a round with me, or practice a bit. She never said anything. But I can't have anyone over anymore. It wouldn't be appropriate, with a girl so young," he said lamentably. "I've pushed her out the door and down to a neighbor lady's house too often so that I could run up to London for a match. It isn't fair to Amber. It isn't right. It isn't..."

He stopped, and I was completely horrified to realize he was crying. This giant man, this man who fought for a living, and had threatened me unsubtly only a few moments before – was _wrecked_. He turned his back, and I edged uncertainly out the door, shaken by his quiet grief. He was giving up his daughter. Giving her up – giving her to _me_. To Eva. Because he thought it was what was best for her. Because he knew it was only right to give her to her mother.

And I was shattered, because I had never once considered doing such a thing for Charlotte. I had tried to give her what I wanted – and what she wanted – but I had never done what was truly best for her. Not without another sort of motivation. Desire to get rid of Raoul. Desire to get rid of Eva. I had been selfish, and now I was suddenly seeing what it being a father was really about. Zachary had claimed he wasn't a good father. But I had just seen the ultimate act of selflessness. He was wrong...he was a great father. Better than I.

Because I never could have done such a thing.

My heart wasn't big enough. Not nearly as big as his.

- -

Eva was sitting on the couch holding a sleeping angel. A sleeping angel in boy's clothing, but an angel nonetheless. In the dim light, set against a blazing hearth with a Christmas tree tucked in the corner, I knew a taste of heaven. I saw it. She was sitting there, looking down at her daughter, with the most peaceful expression on her face. She was – serenely beautiful.

"Isn't she perfect?" she whispered, sensing my presence before I stepped fully into the room. "Erik...I feel as if I'm in a dream. Tell me, am I dreaming?"

I sat down beside her and let her shift Amber's legs across my lap. I leaned against Eva's side to study the elfin, freckled face. "I think not," I said softly. Her eyelashes fluttered as I touched her cheek, but she was obviously asleep.

"I'm going to fall apart in a little bit," she declared, "and I want you to be here. Once he takes her home – and he must tonight, because I simply can't _not _fall apart. It's just been too much."

"I understand," I said, my heart racing. She needed me. After all that I had done regarding my daughter, she needed me to comfort her over hers. "I will be here."

I waited a few moments, wondering if I should propose or not. She had said the day had been too much. Perhaps it was not the right time.

"I don't know what to do," she whispered. "How will this ever work?"

"How will what work?" I asked cautiously.

"Me. You. Her. Zachary. Charlotte. Raoul. Oh, the rest," she sighed. "Rebbecca, Lacey, and James as well. I believe my father had a word for this, but I shall not repeat it."

"I believe Monsieur Rougette and I have an understanding," I said quietly. "I shall not give him any problems, and he shall never have to _deal _with me. Which I have been informed – not that I needed to be – will not be pleasant."

"Oh, Erik," she chuckled. "What do you think of him? Of me?"

"I think it's an odd situation. One we will see our way out of," I said slowly. "What do you think of him?"

She sighed, then glanced about. "Living with him was like living with an enormous puppy. That is all that I can say. But...I don't want you to think I don't have feelings for him. I adore him, because it's hard not to like a man who can put away five plates of crepes that tasted horrible, look you in the eye, then claim they were the best he'd ever eaten. He's a nice man. And don't let him fool you into thinking he has a temper. He doesn't. I think it takes twice as much aggravation to get him angry. And he is very loyal to his friends." She looked at me then, and I knew what she was about to say. "But I love you, Erik. I don't feel the same way for him."

And I smiled and said, "Eva I -"

"Well, I'd best get her home," Zachary said gruffly, stepping through the door.

I simply dropped my head to my chest, and I heard Eva snicker a little bit.

"She might wake in the night and be frightened," he explained, bending over to pick her up. "You are living here, Eva?"

"Yes," Eva murmured, crossing her arms over her stomach, as if they already felt empty.

"And you, Erik?"

"I live across the river. My daughter and I are just visiting for Christmas."

"You're daughter is here?"

"Upstairs, sound asleep," I said, watching him hold Amber tighter.

"I can't do this tonight," he muttered. "She's...not tonight. I'm taking her home."

"Zachary..."

"Not tonight," he said, his voice sharper, cutting Eva off. "I know what I'm doing is right. But I can't do it right _now_. You may visit at your convenience."

And with his daughter swallowed by his arms, he took her home.

Then Eva fell apart, right in my arms.

- -

I put Charlotte in the carriage with Lacey and went back inside. Eva sat on the sofa, still looking hollow and a little lost.

"You're sure you don't want me to stay?" I offered again.

Eva shook her head a little, and I pulled her up and into my arms and kissed her still trembling lips. It pained me to leave her like this, but it was going on one in the morning. Far past time for all of us to say goodnight. She sighed and slipped her hands inside my coat, craving my warmth just as much as I craved hers.

"I've tried to tell you all evening," I began, and she cut me off with a little smile.

"I already know -"

"_I need to say it_," I said again, then kissed her. "I want you to know. I love you. I love you, Eva. There are...other things I wish to say to you. But you've had a long night, and I will give you time that you may need -"

"I don't need time," she said quickly.

"Nevertheless -"

"I don't need time!" she exclaimed, then squinted at me, as if trying to see beyond my soul.

"What's that look for?"

"You aren't a mind reader, are you?" she demanded, her lips tight with a suspicious smile.

"Am I supposed to answer that? Because it doesn't really seem like a sane question..."

"Erik! You're going to have to ask better than Zachary. But you're going to have to ask. I can't make you ask, of course. But...I...what...?"

I'd begun lightly tapping her lips with the tip of my finger, until finally all movement and all sound ceased.

"I love you. I will ask. In a manner you will deem appropriate, and something I think you want. Say no more. That's all you get from me."

I lightly kissed her lips, then the back of her hand, all the while watching a lovely smile creep across her face.

"This has been a rather trying – but perfect – day," she said breathlessly.

"And tomorrow will be more perfect," I vowed, kissed her hand again, then left.


	81. Mary and Mildred

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

_Eva_

"I lied to you."

I opened one eye, then the other. Rebbecca was lying on her side of the bed, staring at me. We didn't normally sleep together, but after the excitement and trauma of Christmas I had crawled right up in her bed and ended the long night with another spell of crying. We had done this the night our mother had died. Held one another, completely lost except with each other, and devastated by the loss of both of our parents so close to one another.

"About?" I prompted.

Her eyes stared down into the pillow, her face twisted into an unhappy expression. "Not so much as lied, really. But I could have told you the truth earlier. I'm very surprised that Erik didn't. I can't possibly imagine why he wouldn't have – "

"Rebbecca."

"Right." She sighed and flopped over. "Erik came into my room the night before we left. He was upset because he had heard I'd called you names. We...exchanged words."

"And?" I prompted again. It wasn't like Rebbecca to have such a reluctant tone. She'd never been able to keep a secret. And she'd never sounded ashamed before.

"I said some awful things to him," she whispered. "He didn't deserve what I said. And I hate that. Because I want him to deserve it. I don't want to...to like him."

"What did you say?" I asked, feeling ice sink into my stomach. There were many things she had said to me over the last few weeks. I could only imagine what she might say to him.

"It was mean. Must I say more? I will apologize to him," she muttered. "But I wanted to tell you that I...I told him we were leaving. That you were taking me away from there, and...and other things. I think I really hurt him."

I sat up and stared at her, feeling betrayed. Disbelief and anger warred inside of me, but all I could see was Erik's face as she told him any number of things. Shattering his will, and his confidence. Then apparently I had done more.

"I'm sorry," she continued, ignoring the look on my face. "I'm...I'm not fit for company anymore, Eva. I'm not a good sister. Not a good person. I just...I want you to move out. I want to live here alone."

My anger with her deflated as I looked at my sister. Still broken. Still in a dark world where I hadn't been able to reach her. She was in pain, and suffering, yet I knew she was telling me this to make me happy. To put my mind at ease. Too often over the last month she had come upon me crying, and stared at me with an expressionless face and dead eyes. But I had never wanted to fight with her. All I had wanted was for her to remember what life had been like before – and embrace it again.

I only realized now that perhaps it was asking too much. Rebbecca would never be the same. She was forever changed by the last few years of her life. And I would never understand that darkness in someone's mind, because I had been protected. She had not.

"I'm not leaving you," I said softly.

"You're going to marry Erik. You have not one...but two daughters now. I can't control myself, Eva. I can't stop...I look at you and I'm angry. I'm so angry, and I don't know if it will ever stop," she breathed, her fingers digging into the pillow. "I want to be alone. I don't want to see anyone."

"You can't stay here alone. It isn't safe," I protested.

"You don't understand," she said miserably. She rose from the bed and made her way to a chair, staring down at her pale, thin hands. "I used to lie awake, tied to the bed thinking that I would give anything to be home. That things would be perfect if I were home. But I finally made it here – and it's not. I wanted it to be. But I know now that it will never be the same. The first two years I listened to women screaming around me. Begging for help, begging for those men to – to stop. I was one of them. For the first two years. And like most of them, I finally gave up. I wish I had died, Eva. It was what I expected to do. I should...I should be dead. And now I have to live like this."

"Rebbecca – "

"No, Eva," she said firmly. "I don't want to be around people anymore. I just want to be alone."

"You seemed so happy when we first got you away from there," I whispered, already missing the loss of my sister. Now it seemed she was well and truly gone.

"And then I realized what a charmed life you'd had," she stated. "And I have turned into a complete beast. The truth is, I don't want to change back into sweet, complacent Rebbecca. She's a stupid girl, and I hate her. This is me now, Eva. This is who I am. And I want to be alone. Marry Erik, and then I just want you to leave."

"Rebbecca, the gendarmes..."

"I would love to meet them," she said fiercely. "I would love to face my fate."

In an instant I was across the room and at her side, holding her and crying. But she was not. She stared ahead, her eyes glazed, and did not cry. I wept for my sister, because she could not weep for herself.

- -

I left the house after I had settled down. It seemed that Rebbecca didn't need my comfort. I needed hers, and I needed to see her tears, but they just wouldn't come. She was an empty shell inside. Her heart was buried under shame and pain, and there just didn't seem to be a way to reach her. I would give her time – but hopefully by the time I was saying my vows she would come around. I wanted her to forget that place and remember how to live. She was – or had been – my only living blood relative.

And now I was on my way to see my other one.

Zachary lived three houses down on crooked, crowded Charlemagne street. Like my house, his was sitting almost directly on the street. A wide sidewalk and stairs was all that separated his house from Charlemagne and carriages, with no visible expanse of grass nor trees and flowers between. And as usual, he did not answer the door when I knocked, but I could hear him inside.

Grunts, and groans, and the savage, powerful sound of pugilism.

He was exercising.

His house was a three story, where mine was two with a spacious attic. The entire lower floor of his house was unlike any other house I had ever been in. Perhaps even odder than Erik's. It was devoted to his training, and the training of any other men who might decide to fight him. Walls had been ripped away, and in the place of a parlor, dining room, and a previous study, there was an enormous ring. I wasn't sure why it was called a ring. Rings are circular. This one was square.

But when I went into the 'Ring Room', he wasn't in the ring. He was taking his frustration out on a bag of grain swinging from the ceiling. Shirt off, head down, it wasn't hard to see in that moment why I had sought him out. As much as I loved Erik's lean, muscular form, I certainly could still appreciate a man like Zachary. I often had, once I had realized why men and women join together. He was a huge, brawny man, and he'd never failed to make me feel safe, though not always satisfied.

But at times like this – when he was beating the corn out of a bag – it was not in my best interests to disturb him. Temper, he had not. But he'd always been...in one of_ those moods_ when he looked like that. Naive girl that I was, I had gotten into those moods as well, seeing his muscles slick and hot, his body muscled and just always...ready. I'd never been able to resist touching him, and though I hadn't always wanted it, it had always led to something more than a touch. As it was not conducive to my visit, and I did not need to remind us both what times had been like before, I left him alone.

I turned and went upstairs, opening the door to my old room, knowing what I would find.

"Amber," I whispered.

She was sitting on the floor amidst girl playthings, but was wearing breeches and a soft blue shirt. Her mouth broke open in surprise, and she stood, dropping a doll that was very nearly unclothed. I sat down beside her and pulled her back down without a word, and straightened the dolls hair before handing it back to her.

"Does she have a name?" I asked, immediately reaching for the cap that covered her hair. It fell around her shoulders in a curtain, and I sighed wistfully, wanting a brush.

"Mary," she said simply.

Mary? What Victor had named her? I felt my throat tighten, wondering if he'd been decent to her or not. I was thankful he hadn't thrown her in Salpetriere as well. Likely he had thought to use her as leverage. Only he hadn't needed her once I had fled. So why had he kept her?

"It's a lovely name," I said softly. "What...ah...what does Mary like to do?"

She smiled up at me, "Oh, well she likes to wear pretty dresses, but I gave them to someone, and now she doesn't have them anymore."

"Oh. Who did you give them to?"

"Mildred, who lives down the street. She talks to herself a lot, and she didn't have any Christmas presents," she explained, lifting a gold curl from Mary's shoulder. "Papa gave Mary to me, though. I didn't want to give her away."

She looked at me, so disturbingly calm. "I don't want to be shellfish."

"Shellfish?" I repeated, then smiled. "Selfish, you mean?"

Amber shrugged, clearly not certain there was a difference. It melted my heart to find out I had such a giving daughter. She'd probably nearly raised herself up to this point, though I didn't doubt that Zachary had done his best by her. It was obvious he loved her, even if he wasn't quite sure what to do with her. His expression last night had broke my heart. I needed to talk to him about her. I couldn't bear to see that man in such turmoil.

"That was very kind of you to give Mary's clothes to Mildred. I'm sure we can find her some new ones somewhere," I said softly.

She patted my hand, much the same way Charlotte did when she was trying to be complacent. It brought tears to my eyes to think of those two meeting. In no way did I think they would have a pleasant relationship. Charlotte was jealous and possessive, and constantly needed her way and to have all the attention. I didn't want my daughter to drown under the needs of Charlotte. I didn't want her to fade in the background, because it was apparent that she was of a sweet nature.

She reminded me of a mixture between Rebbecca and myself.

"Are you going to cry again?" she asked, lifting one of her eyebrows. "Papa _hates_ it when I cry."

I smiled. Yes. He'd hated it when I cried as well. He'd never been certain what to do with a woman, and I'd never told him that he really needed to do nothing. Just being there had always been enough.

"I might cry. There's nothing wrong with crying once in a while," I told her. "Do you...do you have a hairbrush, Amber?"

She got up and went across the hall into her father's room, bearing a thick wooden brush. It had been mine, I realized with a smile. How odd. I sat on the floor and patiently brushed out her hair, then went further and braided it for her and curled it around her head.

Her expression in the mirror as she turned this way and that was priceless. She looked so happy, and excited, that I could do nothing more than smile and cry at the same time.

That was how Zachary found us. Smiling and crying, and holding on to one another.


	82. Beefcake

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

If you want to know what happened btw. Raoul and Lacey in the kitchen, check out their story (Bleeding Strands of Fate). Lacey makes her debut POV in chapter 6. And read chapter 5 before you read this, so you might understand the story a little better. There won't be too many more crossovers, if any. Promise.

_Erik_

Lacey knocked on my door and waited until I had called out to her before she came in. I was trying to tie the third or fourth cravat that I had picked up and discarded. Marriage proposals made me uneasy, naturally. I wasn't quite sure what to do with the ring in my pocket. One I'd impulsively had Madame du Brul buy from a jewelry store catalog just days before Christmas. I'd had it on me last night, of course, but I was only going to get the chance to use it now.

"You look fine," she smiled, sporting one of her new dresses that Madame du Brul had chosen for her. Not a Christmas present. Merely a gift from me to her, as were the other dozen or so currently stored in her room. I believed she changed about three times a day, and encouraged my daughter to do the same, much to Madame du Brul's dismay. "You have a visitor."

"I do?" I asked anxiously. "Eva?"

"Monsieur de Chagny," she said, shrugging her shoulders in irritation. "He says its urgent."

"Fascinating," I grumbled in disappointment, ripping the neck cloth away.

"Why do you put up with him?" she demanded. "You shouldn't have to receive him anymore. He isn't part of your family."

"Lacey I...I owe it to him," I said softly. "And as long as he wishes to see Charlotte, I will not deny him his rights. Nor would I deny Zachary his rights. I'm trying to change. It isn't...it's not easy. Especially for me. But I have to let him see her."

"Well, I don't have to see him," she remarked. "But he's waiting in your library."

She wrinkled her nose in distaste and left. I sighed at my reflection and checked the mask, then made my way down to the library. He was standing and staring at a place where once a painting of some unknown maiden had been, which had been next to a painting of some other unknown maiden. I had filled my house with milk-maids, never realizing it until I had removed them from Charlotte's wrath.

"Vicomte."

He sighed and turned around, holding a large brown folder in his hands. It looked very familiar, a dark chocolate brown with small yellow squares at the top. A white label was visible across the flap, and without reading it I knew the name.

"Where did you get that?" I queried, feigning casualness.

"Straight from Superintendent Alencon," he replied, handing it to me. "I received a summons from him three days ago. We had a very long and complicated chat."

"Did you?" I asked, glancing through the document. It was Charlotte's consent form, and at the bottom was Christine's signature. Raoul's was nowhere on it. Christine had done this herself, I realized with sudden fury. I had wanted to blame him...but he had not even signed it.

"They've pieced together quite a bit, actually," he continued as if I hadn't spoken. "Christine's file missing, my daughter's governess's sister missing. Me – freeing an individual outside the gates of the hospital with my governess. By the way...you're dead."

I glanced up at him, then narrowed my eyes. "I'm what?"

"I told them you were a tunnel vagrant, and you passed on later that night. Alencon doesn't care. He's a puppet," he said with a shrug.

"And who," I wondered aloud, "is the puppeteer?"

"Erik, we ought to close the door," he said nervously. "Your...ah...chaperon isn't about, is she?"

"Doorless," I said, indicating the open entryway that I had destroyed – one of four in the entire house. "Perhaps we should just let her come in. Lacey?"

She came in slowly, and her face was white. If I had known she was eavesdropping I would have sent her away. Or if I had known the content of his conversation, I would have taken him outside. Lacey needed to feel safe here. I didn't want to keep things from her, but I didn't think she should ever worry about her husband finding her here.

"Why don't you tell us everything? Lacey, sit before you collapse," I instructed, pushing her gently into a chair.

"Doctor Blaise Soboul," he said, and we both watched her expression. She glanced down at her hands, then bit her lip. Nothing too dramatic, but she wasn't looking me in the eyes. "I met him the other day. Not a pleasant man."

She glanced up, and I saw a sarcastic reply on the tip of her tongue. But she met Raoul's eyes and changed her mind, her chin lowering to her chest once again.

"I've taken the liberty of having him followed," he continued, then briefly explained the content of the discussion with Alencon. It seemed the fellow was being blackmailed. "Alencon told me that I was being followed, so there has been two men following me, actually. One of mine, and one of Soboul's. There's also a man staying in a flat across the street from Eva and Rebbecca's. I didn't want to...ah...ruin your Christmas season with this news. It seemed best to wait."

"So why don't we just expose the hospital ourselves? Alencon can get lost. He should have taken care of his patients, and I'll deal with Soboul if I need to," I said carefully, glancing at Lacey.

"How?"

I moved over to a shelf and grabbed a book, tossing it towards him. "Read the author's name, if you please."

"It's your name," he murmured, then read the spine, "_The Adventures of Blackberry Cole and the Haunted Manor_?"

I smiled sourly, "One of my favorites, I assure you. Read it. It's humorous."

"You wrote this?" he asked, "I've...I've actually read some of your stuff. Years ago. It _is_ funny."

My smile turned into a scowl. My luck, the fool had already read it, and probably while still in leading strings. I was only ten years older than he was, but I still didn't appreciate being reminded of my fading youth. "Drivel, I assure you. But it sells."

"No...it's funny," he repeated, then shrugged. "It_ is _drivel, but you're right. People always want to know what happens to Blackberry."

"The man's going to die someday," I muttered. "A cliff, I think, should do the trick."

"You think your publishers would print something?" he inquired, setting the book on my desk.

"Anonymously, of course. It will have to be satirical, and names must be changed. I can't use the name of the hospital, or anyone working there. Alencon...I believe the papers call him a Beefmaker. It could be a spin off of his name, the poor chump. _Beefcake_. I think I like it," I said, already thinking of a suitable plot. "We could expose the entire hospital. Bicetre as well. I don't know why I never considered it before."

"Erik," Lacey whispered, and I abandoned my tirade as I looked at her. Her face was stark white – whiter than before. "No."

"Don't be afraid, Lacey. No one will find you here," I murmured. "And I have ways of getting you out of here in any case. Never fear."

Her blue eyes were haunted and pleading. "I want to speak to you. Alone," she whispered as I knelt next to her. "Please."

Without my asking Raoul left us, and she started trembling.

"No one will find you," I vowed.

"He's already found me," she replied despondently. "He's only a step away now. You should go...if he's been following Monsieur de Chagny, then he knows about Eva and Rebbecca now. And I was there last night. He'll use them to get to me."

My blood chilled, and I tried to take a breath but couldn't. I had left them alone last night. I had left them alone every night for the last month, but now de Chagny had likely been followed to Eva's house. And both Rebbecca and I had been seen, most likely.

"de Chagny!" I bellowed in Lacey's face.

He strode through the door, looking puzzled.

"Is there still someone across the street from Eva?" I bit off.

"Well, of course. That's where I went last night," he said, frowning. "Why?"

"Get your damned carriage ready. I swear if one red hair on her precious head has been touched, I'm going to kill someone."


	83. Flight Path

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

_Eva_

Zachary looked pained whenever I asked to speak to him alone. We'd done this a few times before...one of which had been when I told him I was pregnant. He'd simply stared at me, as if he'd never heard the word. Then he'd shaken like a leaf, and said I must be mistaken.

And in the end he'd picked me up in his arms and spun me around the room, a big grin on his face, he'd immediately launched into names for a son. It never occurred to him until later that it might be a girl.

"Yes?" he sighed, sitting down on the edge of a _very_ sturdy couch.

"Zachary, I'm not going to just take her from you."

He scratched his head and sighed again. "I never thought you would, Evie. I just didn't think you'd be...with someone else. I always just expected you to come back."

My heart broke a little, because if I had known he was here, and she was here – then I would have come back. It would be easiest on him, and most certainly for Amber. But Zachary didn't want to be married. He'd told me so quite often, even though he had offered to marry me no less than a dozen times. I did want to be married – to a man who wanted me. And Erik did, and I loved him in return.

"I'm sorry," I managed to say. "This was...a recent thing."

"But a sure thing?" he asked, looking a little hopeful.

"I think so, Zachary," I answered softly. "I...I wish it were a little...or a lot...less complicated."

"Tomas Costas," he grunted, glancing at me. "That's how I knew where to find you. If I'd known he was trying to help you with Rebbecca, I would have come for you. But he never told me."

"I begged him not to," I whispered, "I was ashamed."

"This Erik...you trust him?" he asked, not wanting to touch on sensitive matters that might likely make me cry.

"Yes."

He nodded, "Thought so. He seems wary, but he didn't act on his impulses. I thought he'd go for my throat when I...uh...proposed," he finished with a little smile. "You know I'm not much for that sort of thing. But if I were ever to marry, I would want her to be you."

"Thats...that's very sweet," I said, swallowing. He wasn't romantic, not in any way. But sometimes he could say things that tore me inside, because I knew what a sincere and uncomplicated man he was. He often said what he felt, and very rarely cared what people thought. Even if it was offensive, he was going to say it. But he was always honest.

"I'd like to keep her a little longer," he said quietly. "Just until you are...comfortable."

I was already comfortable with her, but I nodded, knowing how much he still needed her.

"Don't think I would keep you from her," I said, taking his hand in mine. It was rough, scarred, and very broad. I'd always felt safe in them, and he'd always tried to gentle with me, as big as he was. "I would never do that."

"I travel a lot," he murmured. "I've never taken her with me...I send her down to Madame Vida's...you remember her, don't you? The deaf old woman that lives on the corner?"

"Of course," I replied, thinking of a toothless hag who seldom smiled. "She seemed...nice."

He scoffed, removing his hand from mine. "Right. Well, she never beat her or anything, but she is a bit cranky. Her granddaughter Mildred lives there with her. She's about twelve or so, but not right in the head. She's Amber's best friend."

My eyes filled at that, because now I remembered Mildred, a shy, sweet girl who would always be just that: a child. Her mother had died birthing her, and Mildred had been breech, barely surviving. If I recalled correctly, she'd been taken directly from her mother's stomach, but she had spent far too long in the womb.

"Amber's a good girl," I said softly. "I think you did fine, Zachary."

"Ah, no," he said, smiling wryly. "No I haven't, but thank you anyway. I keep her fed well, but it's mostly because I need to eat – not her. That's all I can really claim. She eats like a champion."

We stared at each other, remembering old times with swollen throats and shy glances. I couldn't help but give him one last hug, hearing his deep sigh, and felt his farewell kiss on my cheek. We would see each other again, of course. But I at least had the chance to say goodbye.

- -

I left Zachary's, smiling wistfully. I didn't regret my choice. I never would regret it, but I did feel a certain nostalgia for what we had shared. Or maybe it was just Zachary, and knowing what a faithful man he was. His fierce loyalty was inspiring, and I knew there were few men who had such a strict ethical code. Except, of course, for the illegal boxing. He'd been to jail twice in the year I had been with him. He usually fought in England, but often a fight down here was too good to pass up.

I paused at the bottom step of my home, looking up curiously. The front door was wide open. Odd.

"Rebbecca?" I called, stepping up through the entryway. I heard the floor creak overhead and walked through, closing it behind me. "You forgot to shut the door. You really ought to know better than that."

Nothing. I frowned and hung my coat in the hall, staring up at the ceiling. It wasn't really uncharacteristic of her not to respond to me. She had ignored me often enough during the last month, but surely I hadn't angered her by going to see Zachary.

"Rebbecca?"

I sighed and went into the kitchen, continuing to wash the remainder of the dishes from the previous night. Thinking about Zachary, and Erik, and the whole confusing mess. I was going to become betrothed today. I was almost certain of it. The look he'd given me last night...sigh...he'd told me he loved me. And it was not without some amusement that he'd had to try several times before he'd gotten it out. I thought about Charlotte, and what she was doing now. And about Amber, wondering if it was too soon to go back and see her. I hoped the girls got along well, though I doubted it was really possible.

Maybe the best thing to do was not introduce them as future sisters. Or try and explain the relationship too much. It might lead to jealousy on Charlotte's part (and likely would), and I didn't want Amber to feel less loved when we tried to please Charlotte. Perhaps they just needed to be put together, and they could figure it out on their own.

I heard the stairs creak behind me again, though I couldn't see them from the kitchen. "Rebbecca? Erik hasn't been here, has he? I think he's coming over today."

I prayed he was, anyway.

She didn't answer, and I pulled my hands out of the water and dried them, walking towards the door. "Please don't be churlish today. I..."

There was a man standing at the bottom of the stairs, dressed all in black, wearing a funny looking top hat. A man, who I had never seen before in my life. He rubbed his hands together and smiled, just a little.

"Madame Novelli, I presume."

"Who are you?" I whispered, looking frantically around. "Where is my sister?"

"Now that's an excellent question," he murmured. "A more pressing one though, is where is Diana Soboul?"

"Who?"

He took a step toward me, and I stepped back against the door frame. "Now, now. Just tell me where she is. My...er...boss would like to see her."

"I...I don't know who you're talking about," I said, a little louder. Wherever Rebbecca was, I hoped she was alright. "It's just my sister and I living here."

"You're crazy sister, right?" he laughed, "Well, just tell me where the other crazy woman is. We can make this pleasant. I'm not supposed to hurt either one of you. Unless you give me problems."

Lacey. He was looking for Lacey. I had heard her mention that she was married to Erik once, but she'd never said anything to me about it. And Rebbecca had not been inclined to talk about her either. I brought my hands to my mouth in horror as he took another step towards me, his face full of menace.

"I saw her leave last night, so I know she isn't here. But you know where she is," he said quietly. "And you're going to tell me where she is. Or this won't be pleasant."

With my toe I scooted the door stop away from the swinging door, and edged back towards the kitchen. He lunged at me, and I slammed it shut, hearing it connect with his face as I bolted out the back door and into the courtyard. I fumbled with the latch on the wrought iron gate, then I was in the alley and free. But I only ran several feet before I heard him behind me. I was alone...the streets were dead on the day after Christmas, and Zachary's house was in the wrong direction. He was chasing me...chasing me, and I wanted to scream but couldn't.

My heart pounded on my chest, and my satin flat shoes were not suitable for running down the rough cobblestone, but all I could think was escape. Escape to where, I wasn't sure. I had nowhere to go. Erik's was too far. Monsieur de Chagny's was even further, and going back meant I would have to risk encountering the man again.

I ran.

And ran, my lungs screaming.

I thought I heard him behind me, and ran more, my heart near to bursting.

My legs were on fire, and my feet slapping hard against the street. I passed no one, and ran for several more blocks before I collapsed against a store front, looking around the empty street.

I struggled to catch my breath, too frightened to cry, and too numb to call for help. But I barely had a chance to rest.

I looked up, and there was another man this time, skidding around the corner. He looked the other way first, and I slipped out of his sight quickly.

Running. Running. Running.


	84. The One I Want

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

Argh...sorry it took so long. NFL playoffs were on today, and I just had to watch cute little Tom Brady play. There shouldn't be too much of this story left. I might even finish it tomorrow.

_Erik_

My heart was thundering as I searched the house. I hadn't bothered knocking, and I couldn't quite remember if I was screaming her name or not. It occurred to me at one point that perhaps nothing was amiss, and I might have frightened her with my tirade, so by the time I made it upstairs I was trying to be quiet. Trying, but my blood was rushing so fast that I couldn't hear. It swelled through my ears like the ocean, obliterating all sound except the ones of panicked fear.

"Erik, you'd best come look at this," Raoul said grimly, standing in the door of a feminine bedroom. I wasn't sure which woman it belonged to, but it didn't matter. It was empty, and there was nothing of interest inside if it did not contain Eva.

I followed him back downstairs, to the kitchen I had already searched. But I stopped short at the sight there. Something I hadn't seen the first time – blood – smeared across the swinging kitchen door, and a blood trail going out the back of the house. Numbly I pushed through to a small courtyard, walled in by wrought iron fencing and brick. A gate was wide open at the end, and I ran towards it, wiping blood off my hands onto my trouser legs.

"Eva!"

I found myself standing in an empty alley way, and felt the first wisps of cold air hit my cheek. It was going to snow soon. I glanced at the white and gray sky, saw steam leave my mouth and swirl into the freezing air.

"She's gone," Raoul panted beside me. "They're both...gone. I can't find my guard either."

I turned towards him. Turned to grab his throat, to rip it out, and spit in his eye. He'd done this through his foolishness. He'd gotten her killed, and for that he would dearly pay. My fingers dug into his tailored coat and pulled him towards me, but over his shoulder a man had come running around the corner, directly at us.

I sent Raoul sprawling, not caring if I hurt him or not. I wanted to hurt him. Perhaps I still would, but I was going to get answers from this one first. Whether he was involved or not, he was going to pay for being in my vicinity. I couldn't recall a time when I had been so angry. So furious. So frigging scared that I couldn't think straight.

"You!" I shouted, and charged him. He tried to evade me – to duck past – but I stuck my arm out and collared him, sending him flying down into the pavement. "Where is she? Tell me where she is!"

He could say nothing under the strain of my fist against his face, his youthful face turning bloody before my eyes.

"Erik! Erik, _stop_!" Raoul yelled, pulling me backwards. "This is one of my men..._stop_!"

I bared my teeth at him and snarled, cursing him for not telling me of this days before. She could have been under my protection – Rebbecca as well – even if I'd had to drag them both to my house.

"Are you alright William?" Raoul asked, lifting the young man to his feet. His mouth and nose were bloody, and his left eye was already beginning to swell shut. He stared at me in horror, his eyes fixed solely on the mask and nothing else. "What did you see?" he demanded.

"N-nothing, Sir," he stammered, finally pulling his eyes off me. "I was watching the house, like you said. One of 'em left this morning and walked down the street. I was going to follow her, but she didn't go far. Then I went to the...the...ah...water closet for a few minutes, and when I came back that lady was returning home," he said, then wiped his mouth. "She looked fine...but the other one...well, she was standing out on the ledge beside the window. She said a man had come into her house when I crossed the street, and to please help her sister. But I couldn't find neither one of 'em."

"You checked the streets?" he demanded.

"Yes. But there was no sign of them," he said, finally trying to catch his breath.

I turned away in frustration before I hit him again. "What about the other girl?"

"Other girl?"

"The girl on the ledge," I snapped. "Did you leave her there?"

"Well...of course," he said testily.

I pushed past them both through the house then up the stairs, going into one of the bedrooms that faced the street. Sure enough, when I looked out, I could see the edge of a hemline on a brown dress on the other side of the decorative facing.

"Eva?" I called out.

"Sorry, wrong sister," Rebbecca gritted out.

I pushed half my body out the window and looked at her. The ledge was barely a foot wide, and part of the stone had fallen away. I could see it crushed on the sidewalk below. Enough so that she couldn't possibly come back the same way she had left out the window.

"Are you alright?" I asked, and she glared at me.

"Do I look alright to you?" she spat. "I've been standing out here for half an hour, and now its snowing. Go open the window on the other side of me, please. It's stuck."

I crossed the room and lifted the pane, leaning out to grasp her wrist as she edged closer to me. I took her by the waist and pulled her through backwards, careful not to bump her head or drop her.

"Rebbecca?" I prodded when she began to shake.

"Where is she?" she whispered, trembling. "Where's my sister?"

"I...I don't know."

"I tried to warn her, but she never looked up," she cried. "He was standing in my room...I couldn't shout at her. I broke the...ah...stone and threw it at her. She never looked up at me."

"Where did she go this morning?"

"To see Amber," she murmured, moving to me hesitantly. "Erik, I don't want to go back there. Please...find my sister."

I gritted my teeth and tugged her downstairs where Raoul and the 'guard' were standing. "I suggest you start looking for her," I barked out as I passed by them, "or someone's going to spend the rest of the day picking my skin out of their teeth."

Rebbecca trotted along after me, mostly because she had no choice. Once I got onto the street, I realized I had no idea where I was going.

"Where does Zachary live?" I asked forcefully.

Wordlessly she trudged down the street, holding onto my arm then stopping at a small bend in the street. "Here," she pointed up at a larger, more stately house. I charged up the steps and pounded on the door, surprised when little Amber opened it. She stared at us both with wide eyes, going from my mask to my face, then to Rebbecca.

"May I help you?" she inquired politely.

"Is your father in?" Rebbecca asked quickly, as if she knew I hadn't the patience to do so nicely.

"He's fighting," she informed us, then turned and fled, leaving the door open.

Rebbecca and I gave one another a questioning look, then I finally released her arm and stepped through. Almost immediately I could hear the sounds of pounding flesh, followed by, "Get him, Papa! Hit him! Hit him _hard_!"

I followed the sounds to a makeshift platform with ropes strung around it. I'd seen men fight before...these two weren't really fighting. They were sparring, but it apparently delighted Amber to see her father up there, taking heavy blows from a man and deflecting them with pads. I stared at him as a mule might a Thoroughbred, or an Arabian would a Shire. I would never be that big. Even if I trained as extensively as he did...I would never put on that amount of muscle. I couldn't possibly eat enough to justify that much weight. The man he was sparring with was just as heavily muscled, though not as tall.

"No," Zachary shouted at him, "keep your chin down. Other wise, I might do this!"

He squeezed the pad into a ball and gave the man a swift uppercut, jarring his head back and knocking him to the mat. Zachary stared down at him and shook his head.

"You'll learn one day, pup. Not today."

"Papa! You have a visitor," Amber announced, sitting on a large stack of grain bags.

Zachary looked over then tossed his pads to the mat. "Erik. Rebbecca," he called heartily, pulling a towel off the side of the ring as he stepped down. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

Rebbecca stepped behind me instinctively as he approached, eyeing his large, sweating body with apprehension.

"Take Amber somewhere," I muttered out of the side of my mouth. "Quickly."

She scurried over to the girl, asking something about seeing her room and left. Zachary stared at me, taking in my disheveled state. The mask felt loose, the wig felt askew, and my hand was stinging from hitting that kid. I would regret it later...right now I still felt like exploding.

"Eva's missing," I said, sounding calm rather than panicked for some reason. "You haven't seen her, have you?"

He grabbed a shirt off a chair, told the man still lying on the mat to watch his daughter, then headed towards the front door.

"You'd best tell me what's going on," he said grimly.

- -

It was growing dark, and we'd searched every street in Paris it seemed. There was no sign of her anywhere. I'd sent de Chagny back to my house to find out from Lacey where Soboul lived, and Zachary had gone the opposite direction, searching everywhere he thought she might have tried to hide. We met back on the steps of her house and stared at one another, both clearly terrified of what might have happened.

"Where about does this Soboul live?" he asked with quiet rage.

"Chantilly, I think."

He cursed loudly. "That's too far," he said tightly. "We'd never make it in time, especially now."

"He might not have taken her there," I growled impatiently. "He may have taken her to the hospital. She could be anywhere."

I stared up at the house, as if it could provide me with answers. Willed it to tell me where its mistress had gone. "We've been gone for hours. Perhaps...," I trailed off, racing up the steps. "Eva?" I called out, but the house remained empty. I felt like my heart would explode from fear – from grief. I couldn't lose her. Not now. Not ever. And if someone had hurt her – the world was going to dread what I unleashed upon it.

"I think maybe we ought to split up again," Zachary said gruffly, coming through the door. "I just came from my place. Rebbecca hasn't seen her. Now..."

He trailed off as we heard a carriage roll up outside. We stared expectantly into the open night, which in the last hour had turned into a blizzard. Snow was falling so heavily now that visibility was difficult, and in another hour the roads would be impassable. Going to Chantilly tonight was going to be treacherous, but once I had that address I was going there.

"Watch your step," I heard a deep voice murmur, followed by an impatient female, "I can do it myself!"

"Eva," I breathed, striding towards the door. She was limping up the stairs while Raoul stood back trying to help. He needn't have. I rushed forward and grasped her by the waist, lifting her into my arms. "My God, woman, I've searched everywhere for you! Where the hell have you been?"

"Church," she said, her voice muffled against my coat.

I set her back away from me, "What did you say?"

"I've been in church," she repeated, the scowled. "Let me through. I'm incredibly cold, and my dress is soaked through."

My mouth fell open as she brushed me off and went inside, ignoring Zachary's thunderous expression.

"Would you care to explain?" I demanded, watching her limp further into the house. I slammed the door behind me, not caring that Raoul was still outside in the snow. "We've been looking everywhere for you! You – "

"Did you search Saint Gervais Church?" she cut in, wringing her hair out onto the wood floor.

"Ah...no...I..."

"Then you didn't search everywhere!" she snapped, glaring at both of us. "Where is my sister?"

"At my house," Zachary answered roughly, "with Amber."

Her lips flattened into a thin line, and she started determinedly for the door. I stepped in front of her, my heart full of anger and still beating with fear. I thought I'd _lost_ her. I thought she'd been gone forever. And she wasn't even going to look at me...? _No_.

"Eva, stop," I commanded, putting my hands on her shoulders. "_Why_ were you in Gervais Church? _Where_ is the man who was chasing you? And why in the_ hell_ didn't you come back earlier? You've been gone for hours!"

"Don't yell at me!" she said testily. "I'm the one who was chased out of my home. That's twice now a man has forced me from here...and dammit...I'm mad!"

"I'm mad too!" I roared back, "I thought you were dead! Damn you, I..."

I stopped, both us getting nowhere fast. Ignoring Zachary, and disregarding the look of supreme irritation on her face, I grasped her by the cheeks and kissed her. I tasted her surprise, and felt her stiffen for a moment before she melted against my chest. Her dress soaked my clothes, but I didn't care. I flicked my tongue against her lips then deepened it, needing to feel her, to reassure myself that she was here and alive in my arms.

"Don't...don't ever disappear like this again," I said harshly against her mouth. "Are you alright?"

She blinked, then nodded.

"He didn't catch you, did he? There was," I swallowed and kissed her forehead, "there was blood in the kitchen. You're alright?"

"I'm fine," she whispered. "His blood, I think. But my ankle...mmph..."

I kissed her again, relief pouring through me. I wasn't going to let her go again. I wasn't going to give her a chance to give away. I'd rehearsed this incredibly long speech about why she should marry me...and also why she shouldn't...but it didn't matter anymore. I wanted to hear it now. Needed to ask her now, because she was mine and I wanted to claim her _now_. I didn't want to wait another moment for this, and I wanted to marry her as soon as possible.

Eva put her arms around my neck in surprise, and I felt her straighten the hairpiece, which had come askew no less than a dozen times during my reckless path around the city. Impatiently I turned my right side away from Zachary and pulled it off, discarding it without any doubts about what she would think of me.

In that moment I knew that I had given myself to her. Completely.

"Marry me," I whispered, leaning back to look in her eyes. "Please. Marry _me_."


	85. Like No Other

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

_Eva_

My mouth literally fell open, which of course Erik saw as an opportunity to kiss me senseless again. Not that I needed help. I'd been senseless for the better part of the day, having run around Paris since breakfast in a torn and muddy dress. His hands went around my waist, hands spread broadly across my back, tangling in my hair to tilt my head back.

"Marry me, Eva," he whispered again, his eyes full of torture and love, and a little bit of fear. "This wasn't how I was going to ask...I'm sorry..."

"It's perfect," I murmured, feeling the horrible day slide away from me. He was here. I was safe. My family was safe. And a man had never looked at me like _this_. Never let me see his eyes so full of doubt and love, and let me see every vulnerable thought that went through his mind. It took my breath away, the power I saw there. The powerful love, and the raging emotions that gripped him so much that he trembled. "You already know my answer, Erik. You never had to ask," I said, unable to resist.

"Evangeline," he growled impatiently.

"I love you," I said in a long, soft drawl. "Of course I'll marry you."

Erik grunted as he pulled me back against his chest. "I had reasons, you know. Reasons why you should agree. Reasons why you shouldn't," he whispered with relief. "I was going to do this with a little more composure, I promise."

Composure? I didn't need composure. I'd wanted this _passion_. This fierceness...he'd taken my breath away with his heart laid bare before me. He needn't have asked with wine or flowers. I hadn't needed poetry, just this boldness. This love. This all consuming, earth shattering love.

"You had reasons why I shouldn't marry you?" I murmured with surprise. "Why?"

I heard a rumble of laughter behind me, and realized Zachary was still present, watching. It was a bit embarrassing, and Erik must have thought so too. He set me away from him, his very pale face suddenly looking a little pink.

"Well...you know why," he mumbled. "I'm no prize, unless you consider a complete jackass a prize."

I smiled, "Then I shall befit you with a blue ribbon, oh prized jackass."

"How's your ankle?" he asked suddenly.

"What ankle?" I questioned blankly.

He let his hands fall away from me and all my weight shifted onto my own feet. I groaned, and he lifted me up again with a wry grin. "That one. Come on, let's get you upstairs and into dry clothes."

Erik lifted me all the way up this time, and I heard Zachary call out that he would send Rebbecca home. Through the open door I caught a glimpse of Raoul still standing uncertainly outside in the snow, a young man with a black eye miserably beside him.

"Now," Erik said, once I'd directed him to my room. "Why don't you tell me what happened?"

"What's to tell?" I grumbled, fighting with the sleeves of my dress. "He was in my house the entire time I was in there washing dishes. I mean...I'd even seen the door open, but I was soooo smart and just walked right on in. Never even stopped to think there could actually be something wrong! He said...oh, Erik," I paused and looked over to him, found his eyes on my bare back. "Erik, someone's looking for Lacey. I think it's her husband."

"Yes, I know," he said distractedly, his gaze greedy. "Do you need some help?"

"That would be lovely," I said with a wicked smile. "Could you draw me a _hot_ bath? The water closet is just across the hallway."

He blinked, disappointment evident in his eyes. "Certainly," he muttered, giving one last regretful glance at my dress before he left.

I changed quickly into a thick, heavy robe, and sat on my bed as we waited for the tub to fill up. He came back in the room and sat beside me, lifting my ankle up for inspection.

"It isn't broken," he stated, prodding at me gently. "We can put some ice on it, and it might ease the swelling."

"Do not say ice," I groaned. "I've been walking in snow for the last two hours."

He rubbed my calf slowly, looking up at me with a mischievous expression. "What happened after you left the house? And why was there blood on the door of your kitchen?"

"I hit him in the face with the door," I recalled, shuddering. "And I ran...I just...ran. That's all, really. I saw a man once when I stopped, but I realize now it must have been the man with Raoul. The one with the black eye."

Erik shifted a bit and grimaced. "Then?"

"I twisted my ankle outside of the church. I went in and sat down, but no one was inside. I hadn't seen a single person all morning, and when I tried to hail a carriage, the man laughed at me because I didn't have my purse," I said crossly. "He said he didn't give free rides, but he'd be willing to exchange them."

"He said _what_?" Erik shouted, and I nearly fell off the bed as he lunged forward to grip me. "A man said that to you? What did...Eva..."

I shushed him with a kiss. "I won't repeat what I said, but it wasn't nice. He laughed and winked at me, and said I might do better nearer to the river."

"You never repeat the good parts," he said, his lips twitching. "Are you sure you know any curse words?"

"Pray that you never find out. I only say them when I'm truly angry."

"How did Raoul find you?"

"I walked down to the river, and he was crossing the bridge. I recognized his carriage."

"The river?" he repeated quietly. "You actually went to the _river_? Do you have any idea what sort of things take place down there? My God, woman. I'm never letting you out of my sight again."

"I would hope not," I said calmly, well aware of what happened near the river. But I'd been on my way to his house, figuring if I couldn't go home, then I'd go to his, even if it was through a blizzard. It hadn't been my best idea either, but I wasn't about to tell him any of this. Once I'd gotten a block away from the church I'd been blinded by the snow, and was freezing in shoes that were less than adequate for walking. Never mind that my ankle was the size of an apple, and I'd already been approached by three reprobates. It seemed the only people out on Christmas were perverts.

He stormed across the hall and stopped the bath, raking his hand through his hair. The mask was loose again, and I thought something must have happened to it, otherwise it wouldn't have been moving so much.

"Come here," I said softly.

Erik did so, kneeling before me when I tugged him down. I kissed him softly once on the lips, then felt for the band that held the mask in place. His eyes closed as I removed it, and I kissed him again before I turned my attention down to the leather shield.

"There's something wrong with it," he said curtly, his hands resting on either side of my legs. "It keeps coming loose."

"It's been stretched," I murmured. "You'll need some new elastic."

He glanced up, his eyes hopeful. "Do you have any?"

I cupped his face in my hands and kissed him. Felt him draw me closer, my legs opening to his body, my robe parting at the top as his hands traced the edges. We broke apart, and I quickly straightened my clothes as we heard someone stomping up the stairs.

"Top drawer in my desk," I said, pointing to my mother's sewing machine table.

He quickly located the fabric and brought it back to me, both of us innocently absorbed in repairing the mask by the time Rebbecca appeared at the door.

"Eva," she whispered, crossing the room and going into my arms without hesitation. "I...I thought...," she sobbed, and soon her entire body was shaking as she stammered out apologies and all the dreadful things she had been thinking all day. Apologies for everything, and soon Rebbecca was just crying in earnest.

"It's alright," I murmured, stroking her hair.

Erik took the mask from me and finished replacing the band, sliding it over his face. He shifted on the bed, and Rebbecca grabbed his hand before he could move.

"I'm sorry," she said, her lips trembling. "I had no right to say what I did. Especially after you...you saved me. I'm sorry. I..."

He glanced at me, then back at her, his eyes wide. "It's alright," he said quietly. "You were protective of your sister. It's understandable."

"No it isn't. I was jealous, and I didn't want her to be happy," she said bitterly, then looked up at me. "I'm so sorry, Eva. That man didn't hurt you, did he?"

I almost wished he had at least hit me, thinking about what Rebbecca said about my charmed life. I'd been protected and cursed with good luck, and I felt guilty that I hadn't endured even half of the hell that she had in her life. Even the one tragedy I'd suffered had turned into treasure. I had my daughter...I would soon have two, even if Charlotte never called me her mother.

"No. He didn't," I replied, somewhat sullenly.

She smiled and pulled away a bit. "I'm going to go downstairs and see if I can fix you something to eat."

"You can cook?" I asked dubiously.

Her eyebrow shot up in irritation. "I was married, and Mother taught me just as well as you to cook."

"Then you're just as deplorable as I am, because she was a terrible cook. It's hereditary, I think," I said dryly.

She gave me one last hug and left us alone. I was still staring through the open doorway where my bath was still waiting when he pulled me into his lap. His fingers nudged the robe open at my knee, his hands trailing up slowly to the tops of my thighs. "You're still cold," he whispered against my throat.

"My...ah...my bath," I reminded him with a little gasp. His index finger moved over and traced the inside seam where my legs pressed together, halting just above my knee. "Erik, this house is likely filled with people."

"I hate people," he said solemnly. "They're always in our way."

His hand curved around and squeezed my bottom, and I couldn't stop the gasp of delight that shot through me. "The roads will be impassable tonight," he continued silkily. "It's too bad we aren't married yet. I'll be sleeping in your parlor, I suppose."

"I suppose you will," I groaned against his lips, seeking them and being denied. "Erik, I..."

He rolled his hips against me, breathing roughly as I pressed against his erection. His teeth nipped at my neck, his tongue dampening already cold skin, then heating it with his breath. My hands fumbled with a few buttons on his shirt, then I slipped my hands inside to touch his warm chest, our actions becoming fevered and urgent. I'd laid my mouth against his neck just as his hand slipped inside my robe and cupped my breast. We were both on fire for one another, and it was the sound of a door shutting downstairs that broke us apart.

"My God," he whispered shakily. "I'm...Eva..."

"I don't want to wait."

His eyes darkened and he exhaled sharply. "I..."

"I don't mean right now," I chided, kissing him slowly. "I mean tonight. We're to be married, hopefully soon. Will you come to me tonight?"

A barely perceptible nod, yet he couldn't have been more clear with the expression in his eyes. I knew as he deposited me safely across the hall, and with a lingering, yearning gaze, he left, that I was going to be ravished later.

The thought thrilled me like no other.


	86. Something Not Repeatable

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

_Erik_

After discovering that Raoul had returned to my estate to watch over Charlotte and Lacey, and Zachary had gone home to his daughter, I located some tools that had belonged to the late Monsieur Novelli and set to work, reinforcing the front entrance and then the back door. It would take a severe beating for someone to knock it down, but by the time they did so I would be waiting for them. Rebbecca stood behind me, stirring some sort of soup that had intrigued my stomach, if not my eyes.

"There," I said, giving the door a final shake. "That should hold for tonight, anyway. Then we'll have you safely at my estate by tomorrow."

"I'm not leaving," she said quietly.

I spun around, narrowing my eyes at her. "What did you say?"

"I said I'm not leaving," Rebbecca repeated mildly, tilting her head sideways. "This is my home, and I'm staying here."

"You've gone daft," I muttered. "You aren't staying here. Those men will be back."

A fierce scowl crossed her face. "I don't care. I got away from them before, and I will do so again."

But I detected a trace of fear behind her belligerence. There was something about the way she jutted her chin out that spoke of challenge, of a quiet, desperate need for control of her life. She'd had her world ripped away from her so young, and been stripped of her dignity and youth. But now was not the time to reclaim it. Right now was time for her to stand back, and allow someone to protect her.

"You'll come home with Eva and I," I informed her in a tone that brooked no room for refusal.

Yet she did.

"I'm staying here. In my home. I wish you and Eva the best of luck, but I prefer to remain here. Alone."

"I can build you a house on my estate," I said carefully. "I've been thinking about it for some time. The grounds are large, and you would have all the solitude you want. Trust me, I know a thing or two about solitude."

"As a ghost?" she muttered, shaking her head. "I want to live here."

I paused uncertainly, wondering how much she knew about my past.

"It wasn't so hard to figure out, Erik. Eva didn't reveal anything to me," she said quietly. "Your legend extended beyond the time I was in the hospital, and Lacey was only glad to tell us stories in the last year that she was in there. You're very famous."

"Infamous," I corrected swiftly, trying to decide whether Zachary knew or not. Likely not. He said he couldn't read, which meant he didn't pour over the papers every day. And I highly doubted he was the sort of fellow to regale stories of opera houses anyway.

"Then you understand my need for a life away from others?"

"My isolation was involuntary. I wanted to be around people, most of the time. I was just never given the chance," I said softly. "But I've been many, many places. You'd never understand or believe things that I've seen and done."

"Like what?"

With a sigh I reached into my pocket, brushing past the ring I had forgotten to give Eva in my haste to propose. I pulled out a yellowed piece of paper, one I'd impulsively searched for before Raoul had arrived at my home. I had meant to show it to Rebbecca, to offer it as proof that there was someone who had suffered just as much as she had.

"What's this?" she asked, laying the spoon aside and unfolding the sheet. "A...it's faded at the top. What does it say?"

"_A Devil's Child and Other Things Odd_," I whispered.

She stared closer at the newspaper photograph, taken over twenty years ago. It featured me, standing atop a gilded tiger's cage. Next to a cyclops man, a man who could pull his bottom lip completely over his nose, and a girl with an enormous lump on her back. I'd been fourteen, and for a brief time I had found a family among those strange people. But I had known instantly that I was not made for that sort of life. They were proud to display their abnormalities. I had been humiliated. And the crowd had always known my shame. Where they smiled and snickered at the one eyed man, and Stretch, and looked compassionately at the little girl who'd been fitted with a sack of dried beans ( not the only false exhibition at a freak show), they'd laughed at me. At my shame, at the way I tried to hide my face, because before I'd been there I had known I was _different_. I'd lived among normal people. Among the nuns, some of them beautiful, kindly old women. But they'd never looked at me the way they looked at the other children. And even the freaks hadn't wanted me after awhile. I had left them almost as quickly as I had joined them.

"Caravans like that one go to asylums and offer homes to oddities like myself," I said unemotionally. "They earned coins by keeping me in a cage and putting on a show. Bicetre was glad to be rid of me, because I had starved myself. I thought if I could lose enough weight, I might fit through the bars and escape."

"Oh, Erik," she whispered, biting her lip. "Why did you tell me this?"

"Because I want you to know that...that there is life after being shamed. And you shouldn't allow what happened to destroy your future. I am thirty seven years old, and I can depend on very few people in this world. I've lived more in the last two months than I have ever lived. For the first time in my life I think I might be happy one day."

That wasn't quite true, I realized. I was happy now, if a little aggravated that she wasn't complying to my wishes. She could make this easy on me by being agreeable. But I also realized her need to grasp her own life. I just wished she could do it elsewhere. Like in my home, the damned, stubborn woman.

She handed me the slip of paper, and two bowls of soup. "I'm happy for you and Eva. But I still need to do this on my own. I need to protect myself for once. I don't want to be afraid anymore. But mostly, I just need time. Please try to understand."

I nodded that I did and trudged upstairs, already designing a conversation with Zachary. Perhaps the man might be of some use, after all.

- -

I waited until the house was silent for a few hours before I slipped my boots off and walked quietly back upstairs. Eva had eaten, and looked quite drowsy after she had finished, and I had let her drift off in my arms before I went back down to show a little respectability. But the moment I heard Rebbecca's door close for the night I tensed, then waited. Then waited more. Then the guise of gentleman was gone, and I was nudging open her door slowly, stripping clothes off before I truly had it shut.

She didn't stir much as I slipped beneath the covers beside her. Not until my hands parted that robe, and I'd skimmed my fingers across her smooth stomach.

"Erik?" Eva whispered.

"Shhh, your sister is just down the hall," I reminded her, my lips meeting hers with exploding, harsh breaths. She moaned and rolled to her side, her fingers digging into my flesh. I felt the mask shift, then she'd lifted it slowly and set it behind her somewhere.

"I don't like it," she said softly, her hand tracing my rough cheek. "I want to see you. Always you."

Slowly I explored her, the delicate count of ribs beneath her breasts, the gentle curve of her hip. The way her waist dipped in, her breath sucking in as my lips touched her there.

"You weren't pregnant," I said almost absently.

"No," she agreed, hissing as my hands traveled up her legs. "And you aren't injured anymore."

"No," I chuckled, pulling her upright to remove her robe completely, then kissing the tips of her fingers. She put her arms around my back, caressing me as her nipples pressed into my chest. Kissing her throat, her head fell back and she moaned in ecstasy.

I slowed as she began to explore me, her hands trailing down my back to my buttocks. I gave a nervous laugh when she pinched me and grinned wickedly, both of us caught in a dangerous game of being heard in the quiet, dark night.

"Touch me," I commanded, my voice thick and unrecognizable with need and desire.

"Here?" she asked boldly, her hands running down the smooth length of me. Two of her fingers trailed lower, caressing the dangling things between my legs that had never been touched before. Not by anyone else anyway, and I mostly scratched them.

"Eva." My voice was hoarse, and she stroked me again, tighter, her eyes full of wickedness. I'd begged her to do it, but now I wasn't certain I could handle the attention she fed me. I certainly didn't want to shorten our night together, yet she continued to torment me, her hands massaging, rubbing. Lovingly attentive...it was almost as if she treasured what she held.

"I could kiss you here," she offered seductively before I had the chance to divert her. "Not so much of a kiss, really, but more of a..."

She leaned up and whispered something delightfully shocking in my ear.

Something not repeatable.

- -


	87. Attributes

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

This is beyond graphic for sexual...um...things. Kids need not read this.

_Eva_

"Do you want me to?" I whispered again. I'd rendered him speechless. His eyes widened, his mouth parted, and he looked blank for several moments.

"Women actually do that?" he finally asked, then looked very embarrassed. "I'm...Eva, I'm not a very experienced man. I don't..."

"Lay down," I murmured, pressing solidly against his chest. Wordlessly he obeyed me, his eyes rolling back and hips arching as I continued to hold onto him. I released him for a moment, crawling backwards down his long, tense body. I knelt between his legs and kissed the fading scar of his bullet wound, high on the outside of his right thigh.

He might not be an experienced man now, but he would be after tonight. I would do anything for him. Anything with him, but I would not admit to him just how extensive my knowledge was. Not that I'd done everything with Zachary, but he'd told me just about everything about sex that I'd ever wanted to know. And some things I didn't.

"Eva," he moaned as my lips traveled higher. The hair was sparser the higher up his legs that I traveled, and I lingered for several moments on the inside of his thighs, loving the way he was made.

Finally, after torturing him for several moments I shifted onto my knees and kissed the smooth surface of his manhood. He arched against me, his hands threading through my hair and a rough growl coming out of his throat. My mouth opened onto him, hot and blazing against him, attentive and gentle. Kissing, licking, I tasted him and felt my desire escalate. He was speechless. Purely speechless, his head raised with utter disbelief, combined with pleasure so intense he wasn't even capable of moaning. Sucking, I took more of him, and felt his legs fall like water to the sides. He swelled more, if possible, gasping and bucking on the bed.

"Eva...enough," he pleaded, sitting up and pulling me by the arms until I was beside him. "I..."

I'd taken his hand and guided him between my legs, showing him exactly where I needed him to be. We sank onto the bed together, kissing, tasting. His fingers discovered me slowly, hesitantly. Seeking entrance, then I took his hand again and showed him another equally precious place.

"There?" he asked, his eyes full of worry that he wasn't pleasing me.

For a moment he was off center, then he found me again. He shifted onto his elbow and leaned over, his mouth covering my breast as he continued to stroke me.

"Or there?" he whispered, his voice deeper. He filled me, then his thumb brushed across the strange little nerve again, making pleasure explode around me.

"Yes," I cried out, forgetting I was supposed to be a silent seductress. "There!"

Erik worked faster, lifting his eyes to mine. He pressed his erection against my leg, rubbing against me to further his excitement. I worked a hand between us and continued stroking him, until I knew that I was going to explode.

"I don't want to do this alone," I panted. "Erik, please. Please."

I lifted my knees, then my hips to meet him. He moved between my legs, his hand still slowly stroking me as he kissed me. I arched against him, unable to control myself, watching the satisfaction race in his eyes that he had made me abandon my every rational thought. Slowly, slowly, we joined together. We both hissed as he entered, inch by incredibly inch, until our thighs were tight against each other, and our hips were pressing together.

I felt him inside, my hips straining up to receive more of him as his lips lowered to my breasts, eagerly exploring me from his position of power.

"I love you," he whispered, moving out, then back in.

"Erik," I sobbed, clutching onto his shoulders. "I love you. I love you."

His hips pressed down on me again, pinning me to the bed. Blazing green eyes shouted their triumph, and he thrust against me. Intertwining our fingers, he let all his weight shift onto me, a hard, welcomed weight. He thrust again, rocking our bodies together, the bed groaning and sounding like a cannon in the silent house. My legs lifted high around him, and he lowered himself into me again, his manhood filling and stretching me with delicious, thrilling sensations. His body felt wonderful against mine, his skin warm, his lips soft as we kissed hungrily.

I gasped, and it rolled into a moan when he increased the force of his momentum. He'd triggered that heavenly, sometimes elusive nerve, and it had caught fire, bringing me to a shattering climax. His lips covered mine, and his pace increased until he gave one final deep surge, and I felt his body shudder as he filled me with himself.

Both of us panting, he held inside me as we kissed, neither of us willing to move. To become two instead of one. His back was slick with sweat, as was mine, our skin and hearts raging with fire on a freezing, snowy night.

"Eva," he whispered with wonder. "This was..."

"Mmmmm. There are no words," I finished for him. "None. The dictionary doesn't have that word, and if it did..."

"Let me guess," he murmured, his tone one of amusement. "They couldn't print it."

"Hmmm," I answered, kissing his neck. "Probably not."

At long last he slid beside me, his arms encircled around my waist as he drew me near. We kissed longer, deeper, each of us sated and tired, but unwilling to fall asleep.

"You are forbidden to ever disappear again," he said sternly. "I thought my heart was going to fail. You just don't know..."

"Oh, but I do," I cut in. "When you went back into the hospital, I thought I would never see you again. And then when I found you, and I thought you were going to die."

"That long?" he asked, his voice sounding hopeful and full of doubt. "Eva..."

"I cared about you long before you were hurt," I said softly, my heart warming to this conversation. I would eventually bare everything to him. Tell him every single moment of my growing affection for him, and on into the moments when I had known that I loved him. "I thought about you long before the hospital. Perhaps even while you wore that dratted hood, where I could see nothing more than your chin." I kissed him there, "It's a very nice chin, don't get me wrong – "

"Eva – "

"But I much prefer you like this." His eyes closed as I ran my hand up his side, then around his back. "Your chin is my second favorite feature," I said teasingly.

"Second?" he asked, baffled. "How can it be second?"

"Oh?" I questioned innocently. "Are there other attributes I should be more grateful for?"

In the following moments, tired though we were, he showed me his many other attributes. But, once again: I really shouldn't mention them. They truly aren't to be repeated.

- -

One more chapter (an epilogue), then it's on to Raoul and Lacey's story, but do not fear. You will still see Erik and Eva in their story. Nothing will be resolved about Dr. Soboul. I'll save that for next time.


	88. The Guise of a Gentleman

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

_Erik_

The meeting of our daughters on the eve of our wedding was not as traumatic as I feared. The girls took one look at one another and instantly began a hopeless debate over whose Papa was bigger. To which Charlotte eventually concluded that her Papa was better, mostly because she had _two_. Amber, of course, had stated that her Papa could beat both Charlotte's fathers (probably true, though I would never admit to it), with one arm tied behind his back.

Apparently this was a strategy Zachary used often in his training. I had no doubts that even one direct hit with his fist would ring my bell, not that I was willing to find out.

The girls were going to have problems, that was immediately obvious. Within an hour of meeting Amber had tried to give Charlotte half of her toys, except for a naked doll named Mary, and Charlotte refused to give up even one of hers. Naturally Mary was the only one that Charlotte wanted, and she'd tried to take it and ended up getting pushed down. Then she cried, and Amber had felt so bad she'd offered to let her _see_ Mary.

A miraculous feat, Zachary assured us both, because Amber didn't let other children see Mary. It was with some relief to realize that Amber was no pushover. I had a feeling one day I'd find Charlotte sporting a black eye, likely due to her mouth and Amber's fascination with fights. She apparently loved nothing more than to watch her father spar. Zachary admitted he'd never let her witness an actual fight, which Eva and I were eternally grateful for.

Thankfully nothing was mentioned about mothers. The debate centered around fathers, and no one pointed out that they would, in effect, be sisters. They knew we were getting married, but being so young didn't quite understand what it meant. I'd made the arrangements a week after the snow had finally cleared, and we'd made the discovery that Blaise Soboul had fled Chantilly, and from the looks of things, Paris.

During my week in Eva's home, I had completed about half of a rough draft for a novel on the hospital on Eva's borrowed typewriter. It would be classified as a work of fiction – satirical, of course – but anyone who read it would know my words for truth. I hoped that it would ruin Alencon. Even if he had good intentions, they had never been enough for Rebbecca, Lacey, or any other woman in that hospital. And Bicetre was not going to be spared at all. I remembered enough names from my time there, and it wasn't hard to find out that a few of my old tormentors still lived. Several now resided on the same board that Victor had held. Blaise was going to become a wanted man, in my opinion.

Lacey was terrified, but I had finally convinced her that Soboul was gone. And if he came back, I'd delightfully kill him. Then she seemed in earnest to want it finished. To see her husband ruined. To send _him_ on the run for once, and watch as he fled in terror from the downfall of the hospital.

Zachary had offered a compromise to Rebbecca's situation, one she actually found agreeable, as difficult as it sounds. The third floor of his residence had an entrance that led to the courtyard beside his home, and was nearly inaccessible from the other half of his home. He'd fitted a sturdy lock on her doors, and she had reluctantly given both he and I a key. The times he would be out of town he would let us know so that we could come and stay with her or pick her up. There were an additional three bedrooms on that level of the house, and I'd purchased a new stove and ice box for her, and was outfitting the perfect home for her to indulge in her hermit – like residence.

Not that we were going to allow her to cut herself off completely. Eva was going to take her shopping, and Zachary had (once again) offered to escort her wherever she wanted to go around Paris. I was surprised at her willingness to agree to be in his company, but she seemed to like him fine as long as he wasn't intent on hugging her.

And I'd discovered that he was a hugger. He liked to hug people. Eva, Rebbecca, Lacey, Charlotte, Amber. I'm somewhat embarrassed to admit he'd even hugged me – the man just seemed to possess something unique. He really liked _people_. Though I would never understand what gave him the will to pummel someone to the ground, and make money from it, Eva said he'd often hug his opponents after a fight. If, of course, they were conscious.

On my wedding day, I had looked at my bride and seen the world through new eyes. Nothing had seemed ugly or dark in my world anymore. I'd spent over a week in her arms every night, keeping her warm during that snow – filled time, eager to learn whatever she'd been willing to teach me. _I had become an educated man_. She had ventured out only once to buy me clothes and more paper for the typewriter, and I'd spent part of my days helping Zachary convert the apartments over his home for Rebbecca to live.

My life, it seemed, was going in a direction I'd never thought possible. I was living in a house full of women, and spending a remarkable amount of time trying to placate them all. If I'd known females were such trouble, I might have thought twice about doing all that I had to get them in my life. Lacey, no matter how much I pressed her, refused to accept my offer to build her a small house. Or a large house. She was determined to live in my home forever, it seemed, not that I minded. She was just a tad bit nosy – and sometimes intrusive. Not that I minded – much.

She had made up with Charlotte, but got along much easier with Amber, and had announced she would be chaperon to both girls – as long as they weren't fighting.

And Raoul? Raoul seemed to fade into the background most of the time, though he did bring James over to see Charlotte on occasion. But he seemed less and less determined to spend time with us together as a family. And was even less disinclined to see me. I thought I might have hurt his feelings, just a tad, when I'd lit into him about losing Eva. He kept his distance, and sometimes it was weeks before we would see him again.

Lacey had been remarkably quiet when we had returned from Eva's after being snowbound, and I'd been surprised to learn that Raoul had stayed at my house the entire time. She refused to discuss it, even with Eva, and we had finally abandoned ever knowing what had transpired between them. Eva had determined that Raoul was lovesick for Christine, and Lacey was miserable because he thought she was immature, ugly, and would be (she assured us) fat at some point in the future.

I never again lost opportunities to tell my wife that I loved her, and there was nothing more arousing than pulling her through a hidden door and having my oft thought of fantasy of taking her against a wall...or stealing through to an unused bedroom and learning things about my wife that I was always pleased to discover. She was adamant _after_ our wedding that we wait to have a child, and I had begun using a dreadful thing I detested to prevent conception. I secretly hoped for weeks that she was already pregnant, and that I could abandon the thing, but she'd been delighted to show me other means of making love that didn't necessitate the use of such a device.

But alas, this story closes on that note.

I cannot, under the guise of a gentleman, kiss and tell. Those things, dear reader, are not repeatable.


	89. A Little Note on Raoul

Please check out Raoul's story: Bleeding Strands of Fate. I know that not everyone likes Raoul, but I've tried (hard) to make him into a lovable character. He's nothing like any of his previous characters, and he is truly my own. I think most of you will enjoy his story. And if you don't - you will definately at least laugh. And Lacey is a hoot as well.

Give him a shot. He's being updated as we speak.


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